The Choices We Make
by Wolfgirl220
Summary: What if Erik's daughter had not only lived... but was human? Starts after First Class.
1. Prologue: Finding Me

**Okay, so I know what I said in my other story about 'last one'...**

**But...**

**Yeah, okay, so I had a conversation with my mom about the latest x-men movie, and I asked her, "What would happen if Erik's daughter had not only lived but was human?" and she got this weird look on her face before she said, "I have no idea."**

**So of course I got to look into that!**

**You're support would be greatly appreciated.**

* * *

**Prologue: Finding Me**

_Breathe breathe breathe. _It hurts and I have to remind myself, over and over, to do it. There's blood, so much blood. I can feel the sobs in my throat and the terror in my chest. Their laughter rings in my head along with the screams of my parents. I keep running and running and running. What else can I do? I don't know if they saw me - don't know if they saw the window break or heard the crash as I tumbled to the ground. Don't know if they're tracking the blood leaking steadily from my side like the dogs I've seen policemen with. I don't know anything other than my parents were murdered by circus freaks.

I fall and slam painfully onto my side before scrambling back up. Everything hurts so much. My shoulder, my ribs, my lungs, my heart. I need to stop I need to... I need to…

There's blood in my eyes, hot and wet, and I let it blind me. I already am lost - being blind and stumbling around in the dark are the same thing, and I don't know where I am anyway. And I'm too scared. The air is closing in on me, damp and boiling even in October. I can't breathe and oh gosh I just want my mom. But Mutti is dead and so is Vati they were ripped apart _in front of me by those freaks!_

Light. I see light in the dark. I stumble-sprint towards the blurry light, falling every few steps. By the time I get there my hands and knees sting and are dripping blood onto the ground. I can't see through the film of tears in my eyes and the matted hair in my face. I keep running until I run _into_ something, slamming bodily into it before falling onto my butt. A voice says "Whoa!" and hands grab under my arms to lift me up. The pain of my parents death is still too fresh, and I scream, kicking frantically and biting at the hands holding me. Shouting, in my ears and too close, numbers that don't make sense and voices that cry out in shock. The hands tuck me too close to a chest and pin my legs and arms, keeping me still. I struggle anyway, screaming and crying into the solid wall of a person in front of me.

Shushing. Someone is shushing me. A hand in my bloody hair, murmurs of "It's okay, sweetie, it's okay." But no, it's _not_ okay! Why is she saying that? It's not right! My parents are dead that is not _okay!_ I hear more shouting over that one, and several gasps, and more hands are pinning me and petting me. One finds the shard of glass in my side.

The shouting become screams. Hands pass me and I struggle again only to be restrained once more. "NO! LET ME GO!" I yell. Only they don't listen.

"She's in shock!"

"How badly is she bleeding?"

"Did she say her parents were _murdered?!_"

"Someone call the police!"

"Oh my God!"

My head hurts and I can't breathe and why is the sky spinning and there's these black spots stretching across the sky someone should notice that and stop it why is no one looking at the too-dark sky…

And everything fades away.

XXX-XXX

When I wake up, I recognize the walls as the stereotypical hospital ones, and it's still dark outside. Either that means not much time has passed at all or I've been asleep for a really long time.

There's no confusion when I wake, no sense that things are alright with my life, like I've read in books; I wake up and I remember before my eyelids even flicker open. Tears build almost immediately but they mostly remain in my eyes, a sheen I can't properly see through. The pain in my side and my lungs isn't nearly as sharp, nearly as painful as it used to be. My head throbs every once in a while but other than that the physical damage doesn't seem to be all that important anymore. Gingerly I touch my head and then touch my side. My skull is still intact which is saying something considering how far I fell from the window, but there's thick ridges along my ribs. _Stitches_ I guess. I've never had stitches before - they feel weird, sort of thicker than I'd thought they'd be, and they pull against the rest of my skin. I wasn't expecting that.

I wasn't expecting to be an orphan for the second time in my life either.

I curl up as tightly as the stitches will allow me to and press a pillow to my face in case I make any noise. And then I cry. I cry for my parents, brutally murdered and left to die. I cry for the sense of fear still lingering in my veins. I cry because I don't know what's going to happen to me now.

And I cry because I am so angry I'm practically ready to scream with it.

"Are you alright?" a voice asks kindly from across the room. I stay still and become even quieter, hoping they go away. "Hey, darling, what's wrong?"

_What's _not_ wrong?_ I think. There's a low chuckle from behind me, and I think for a wild second that maybe the voice is ready to cry too. But I'm too old to believe in voices that care anymore. So I curl tighter into my pillow and don't answer. I don't want to talk to anyone and I don't want to be here. I want the last day to have never happened.

"Don't we all?" he murmurs. I glance up in surprise - how did he that's what I was thinking? - and am met by a pair of cerulean blue orbs shining from the bed opposite mine. The eyes rest below a mat of dark curls and are set in a pale, slightly pretty face. A charming smile graces the man's thin lips and he waves his fingers at me in a wave. I try to sit up and pain lances through my side. With a gasp I curl back up and press my face back into the pillow to muffle a moan of pain. "What happened to you?" he asks in concern. I wave a hand and sit up more carefully this time, cautious of the pulling in my side. When I'm upright I pull my pillow into my lap and fiddle with the corner, worrying it until it's squished and dented into a long snake. And I watch him, this strange man. He's propped up on his elbows, staring at me with that mixture of confusion and worry my Vati always got on his face when I came back from school or playing with my friends and was limping or holding a limb tightly.

_Vati. My Vati_. I feel the tears fall all over again and I burry my face in the pillow in my lap. "Oh darling," the man says, and this time I know I'm not imagining the tears in his voice. There's a grunting noise and then a clatter. I look up, startled by the noise, to see him half out of the bed, falling onto his shoulder on the ground. He struggles to get back into the bed but for some reason he won't move his legs to help himself up. His face is all twisty with pain too. And not just physical either.

_Oh…_

I don't rush out of bed because my side won't let me rush, but I hurry as quick as I can and push at his shoulders until he falls rather ungracefully back into it. After some twisting he manages to get himself back the right way around. "Thank you dear." I hesitate before pointing at his legs, looking at his face in question. I don't know how to ask if he can use them, but he seems to understand, because some of the smile leaves his face, and he looks angry for a moment. And hurt. "Yes, I can't use them. Bullet to the back, as it were." He's English! Huh. Never met anyone else from Europe whose family hadn't been here for like, ever. And none from Germany. I hesitate before raising the edge of my hospital pajama shirt and showing him the long line of black stitches. He sucks in a breath and I quickly put my shirt down. I don't want to make him upset more than he already is.

"Glass," I say simply. "Fell." I tilt my head and imagine I can see the bullet wound beneath the sheets even though I can't. "Why'd someone shoot you? You seem nice." The man chuckles but it sounds sad. Really really sad. _Heartbroken? _Yes, that's the word.

"It was an accident, actually. Got in the way of a friend of mine." Angry. Hurt. _Bitter._ I sit on the floor and lean my back against the bed, wrapping my arms around my knees.

"Why?" I ask. There's a rustle of fabric behind me and then I'm suddenly draped in a thin hospital blanket.

"Ah well. It's complicated."

"That's just a stupid adult thing that means you don't wanna talk," I mutter. The man laughs and tousles my hair just like my vati used to when he was proud of me. I feel tears well up in my eyes again and I try to hide them. But the man behind me sees somehow.

"Darling, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he whispers. The fingers stop ruffling and card through my hair instead, just like my mutti used to. And then I'm talking even though I didn't want to, even though I desperately don't want to say because I know, _I know_, that what I saw couldn't have been real. And when people see things that aren't there, or hear things, or talk in tongues like that woman at my church, or love the wrong person, they go to the loony bin. I don't _want_ to go to the loony bin.

But I can't seem to stop the words.

"They're dead," I sob out. "M-my parents. Those _freaks_," I spit the word out with all the hate I can muster, which is kind of scary actually, "killed them! They thought it was _funny_. They _laughed_ at us! And… And…"

The color of my mother's blood on the wall - black as cherry juice but thick like saltwater.

A pair of spikes ripping through my father's back and stopping a centimeter from my face.

Screaming. All of us.

"Sh, darling, sh." Hands tilt my head back and a gentle kiss is placed on my forehead. "Calm." A rush of calm starts at my head, flowing down like a gushing river to pool in my heart and mind. I exhale slowly, feeling my tears start to end, while the man's gentle fingers run through my thick curls. "Freaks is a strong word."

"They were," I whisper, too calm and exhausted to really be stubborn. I'm just stating a fact. "They weren't _human_. One looked like he had these long nails and sharp teeth and the other had these… these… _spikes_ coming out of his arms. Black things." I shiver as I remember those claws stopping right at eye level, about to gouge my eyes out. "Black eyes." They both had had black eyes, nearly engulfing the white. "Freaks," I mutter. The man's hands squeeze my shoulders gently. I look up and see him half leaning over me, tears in those pure blue eyes. He cups my chin and then continues to brush his fingers through my hair.

"They aren't freaks, darling," he murmurs. "Oh, they are monsters, to be sure. But what makes them different isn't what makes them that way." He hugs me and I welcome it, clinging to the arm wrapped around my shoulders like its a lifeline. I'm not crying anymore, but I'm still sad.

I want my Mutti. I want my Vatti.

"I know darling, I know." The man presses kisses to my hair and rocks me as best as he can when he can't join me on the floor. Did I say that out loud? I must have if he heard me. I press my face into the crook of his elbow and close my eyes.

Maybe it will all go away. I'll wake up and it will be my birthday in three days. This will just have been a very _real_-looking nightmare. Mutti will be demanding that Vatti help her with the dishes while he throws suds at me and I'll be hiding under the counter and teasing him. Mutti will give up and fling water at the both of us, completely forgetting that she's wearing her Sunday best. And then I will go play in the barn and then go see Joshua down at the end of the street, one mile away exactly - I checked. And he'll let me use his pool one last day before his dad closes it for winter. And then Mutti will come find me and tell me we are going to be late for church - which we always are, because my parents like to walk anyway, and who needs a too hot church with Latin words that make no sense and a hateful God who hates everyone? But afterwards because it was so hot Vatti will let me climb onto his back even though I'm too old for it and we'll go to the corner diner to get ice cream sundaes. Chocolate for me, plain ice cream for Mutti, and Vatti will make some awful creation that looks like it will eat him back. Vatti will ask about my nightmare - because somehow he _always_ knows when I'm having one - and I'll tell him and they'll both hug me and tell me that it wasn't real because it wasn't.

I open my eyes. The hospital is still there.

"Am I dreaming?" I finally ask, because I need to _know_. I need to know it wasn't real. But the stranger's arm tightens and he sighs very quietly.

"Get some sleep darling. Yeah? Or are you not tired?" he asks me instead of answering. It's as bad as if he just said no. I curl up tighter and cling so tightly to his arm it must hurt. But he doesn't let go.

"What's going to happen to me?" I finally whisper in the dark. "What happens to girls who don't have any families?"

There's nothing the strange man can say.

XXX-XXX

The man's name is Charles Xavier. I learn that when a pair of nurses come in with big smiles and even bigger eyes the next day. They don't notice me at first, but that's okay. I don't want them too. I hide under the comforter and watch as the nurses say things to Mr. Xavier in a strange tone, batting their eyelashes at him and putting their hands on their backs to stretch. I don't get why until they start puckering their lips.

_Ew._ They want him to kiss them, probably. That's just gross. Go away.

Mr. Xavier glances at me and laughs. That's when the nurses notice me. They immediately straighten their backs and put on the sort of smiles that remind me of when the teenage boys at my school would come out of the locker room smelling like skunk and trailing white clouds of smoke behind them. Mr. Xavier laughs again as if he heard what I was thinking.

"Oh you poor dear, you poor, poor thing!" one with a bosom as big as my grandmother's when she was alive says in a too high and too sweet voice. There are crocodile tears in her eyes and in the skinny one's too.

I hide under the covers and don't come out until they shut up. I don't want to talk to them. When I finally peek out they're gone and there are two boys in their place. Older boys. One is blonde and muscular and the other is red-headed and skinny. They're talking to Mr. Xavier and they only notice me when Mr. Xavier smiles and says, "Hello darling."

"Who're you?" I demand, glaring at the boys. Since when are visitors allowed in here? Mr. Xavier laughs at the look on their faces and turns to me with a smile.

"These are my students. This is Alex Summers, and this is Sean Cassidy." They wave at me and I wave a little back. "Sean, Alex, this is Anya." I feel my mouth drop open in shock.

I know I didn't tell him my name.

Mr. Xavier goes very, very, still and then cuts a glance at me with a raised eyebrow.

Oh my God… is he…?

"Hey kid," the blonde one grins a little at me. He gestures to Mr. Xavier who is still watching me with slightly creepy blue eyes and then looks back at me. "You taking good care of our professor here?" The redhead smothers a laugh. I glare at both of them.

"I am _not_ a kid! I'm eleven!" I inform the blonde one - Alex - angrily. "And how did you do that?" I round on Mr. Xavier hotly. He raises a dark eyebrow and looks at me with that infuriatingly knowing look adults wear around younger kids. I scowl hard.

"Do what?" he asks as innocently as Joshua right before he puts a bug down my shirt. I feel my scowl deepen.

"The-the name thing! I never said my name! How did you do that?!" I demand. Mr. Xavier simply smiles and taps the side of his nose, like it's some big joke. The boys are laughing quietly and I cross my arms with a huff. I _hate_ not knowing; the only thing I hate worse is being laughed at. I stare at them with 'the look' and watch the red-head boy gulp.

"Dude, where'd she learn to do _that_?" I hear him whisper to the blonde. I can't stop the smile from curling at the edges of my lips, and Mr. Xavier sees it. He smiles wide at me and I feel the corners of my mouth turn up even more.

They pull down the second a cop comes into the room.

He barely spares a glance for the other people before looking down his big crooked nose at me, heavy black brows over cold grey eyes watching me. I shrink into as tight of a ball as I can and pray he goes away. But the Hateful God doesn't listen to me as he comes near me and pulls out a little black book. I don't want to do this. I don't want to talk about that night. I told Mr. Xavier, no one else needs to know, _please go away_ -

"Anya Lehnsherr, yes?" he asks with a heavy accent. Southern, I think. Florida accents are different from the normal southern ones, but sometimes they blend. It should be comforting.

The guy makes me want to run.

"Y-yes," I answer. I look towards Mr. Xavier as if to ask for help, but he's staring at me with wide eyes like he just saw me for the first time. The boys are staring at me too, with a mixture of fear and… anger? Why?

"I need to ask you a few questions about your father."


	2. Chapter One: What To Do With Her

**Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed!**

**Okay, so, this is basically setting up how Anya becomes a part of the family, and a few other plot-lines for later. Pretty important from the standpoint of here's the set-up, very soon things will be moving pretty quickly.**

**As for Alex in this chapter... I always see him as this very protective guy with his family, and as for how he is with little kids... well we didn't see him with any kids in the movie, so that's kind of me taking a personality trait and applying it to a new situation.**

**That's pretty much it! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter One: What To Do With Her**

Now I know why her eyes are so familiar.

She has Erik's green orbs.

Anya Lehnsherr stares at me pleadingly before turning that angular face - _just like Erik's_ - back to the brooding police officer staring down at her. He is not, however, talking about Erik. He is thinking about a man named Richard Jefferson, and his wife Melissa. _Adoptive parents._ They were almost finished with the adoption - a process made all the harder because the government had been trying to locate Anya's father but had been unable to (I would've laughed if the thought hadn't made tears cloud my eyes). And now they're dead and Anya is alone once more.

"My father?" Anya asks, eyes enormous in a silvery pale face. The sharp angles of Erik's face on her youthful visage lend a sense of fairies and sprites to her appearance, almost inhuman but childlike enough that she has the capability to grow into her features. A dusting of golden freckles covers her face and makes her seem even younger. Full lips, pale peach in color, balance out the forehead she received from her father. That hair though… that must be her mother's; dark auburn ringlets that bounce merrily around her face even as tears threaten in her eyes. "Why my father?"

"There's a chance that… what occurred might have been a result of your father's business practices." _Always thought those goddamn Jefferson's were connected, _ the man thinks derisively, more than a hint of envy in his thoughts. Richard Jefferson was a wealthy man, owning quite a few businesses and a small farm - and had been rather suspicious of the police in his area.

I almost snort. No human gangs could have done what this poor girl saw.

Anya's voice is uncertain but growing angry when she next replies. "What exactly are you saying, Mr…?"

"Officer Frederick." He looks down at those cool green eyes and blanches for a second before he reminds himself he is not afraid of eleven year old girls. "Have you ever seen someone who looked like they didn't belong? Didn't fit with any of your father's business partners? Scared you maybe?"

"You mean did my father work with gangs? No, officer." She's got this stubborn little jut to her chin that looks so much like when Erik disagrees with me… Or rather when he did. The past tense causes an ache even more painful than the wound in my back.

"Damn," Alex mutters beside me, while Sean inhales sharply. They see it too. The similarities… She _must_ be Erik's daughter. None of his siblings, if he had any (and the gaps in what I know about him are like another slash to my heart) would be this young. The three of us watch as that familiar scowl passes over her lips. Officer Frederick looks perturbed for a second before he scowls right back. With concern for the girl's well-being mounting, I press two fingers to my temple...

"There have been several break-ins similar to the one at your house, Ms. Lehnsherr. The chances that this was a coordinated gang-movement are -"

"Not likely," I interrupt. "Most of the break-ins involved missing property, were in much less secure areas, and most certainly didn't involve violence, especially to this degree. With this severe a distinction it would be wise for you to search for other motivations, rather than speculate on the few similarities between the break-ins and such a horrendous act. In fact, the break-ins might be serving as cover for the true criminals." The policeman goes slack-jawed, staring at me, while Anya's eyes narrow at me speculatively. At eleven years old, she has the wide-eyed curiosity of a child, but the growing intelligence of an adult, allowing her to see and make connections most adults would not. And in her case, the plague of suspicion caused by her circumstances.

Unfortunately that was blatant enough that even the slow-minded and corrupt officer before me is beginning to wonder.

Cold eyes appraise me even as Anya's eyes widen in realization. _Oh God… He's a mind-reader?! _She thinks in alarm. _But… b-but…._ Visions of various psychics and carnival persons flood her mind before she shoves them away. _No, _she thinks firmly. _Real_. _Not fake._

"And you know about this how?" Officer Frederick interrupts Anya's mental musings. I shrug and hear the boys shift closer to me, though Alex is watching me out of the corner of his eye in concern. I nod a little to let him know that all is well before focusing on the man intending to intimidate me. I simply raise an eyebrow at him.

"The nurses were discussing amongst themselves about the break-ins and fretting about Anya. I overheard. They were saying how this was rather unlike the other cases." True enough, but then, they weren't in the room when they were chatting about all of this. The officer chews his lower lip and considers my words. Anya stays silent, but she's watching me with that child-like curiosity, wonder playing across her face.

_Can you hear me?_ She asks mentally. _Loudly_, actually, broadcasting as much as she can. I nudge her mind a little with a wave of soothing calm and nod slightly. A slow little smile curls her lips up. _That is really cool…_

_Not as much as you'd think, _I respond. She lets out a sudden yelp at the invasion, and Officer Frederick turns towards her in irritation. She quickly turns her yelp into a whimper.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she says in as childlike a voice as she can manage. It's true but only to an extent. Just like her father, always protecting us… "Can we stop? Please?" Big eyes begging him. Officer Frederick grimaces.

"I still need to ask you a few questions, Ms. Lehnsherr." Anya sighs in an exasperated manner unbefitting a girl her age but nods. The man opens his notebook and asks routine questions, which Anya only gives ambiguous responses too. Understandable, since the truth is likely to have her committed and/or cause a mob hunt for the mutants in question. The knowledge of mutants is still relatively new to the public; word of what they are capable of would undoubtedly cause panic.

Not that little Anya is thinking of that.

Eventually Officer Frederick leaves and Anya breathes a sigh of relief. She looks exhausted. Both boys are glancing from her to me and back again. "I have a bunch of questions for you," she says sleepily, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. I smile and nod.

"Which I will answer as soon as you are awake to ask them." She smiles sleepily and turns onto her side, watching the three of us.

"Promise?" she asks in a small voice. Asking for so much more than answers. Something softens in both of my male students, tension easing as they recognize the signs of a vulnerable young girl. I smile as encouragingly as I can and nod.

"Promise."

Anya's asleep moments later.

"Dude, why does she look so much like Magneto?" Sean immediately asks in a hushed whisper. I understand the need to distance himself from the man that was once mentor and father-figure to him, but I can't quite quell the flash of anger at the use of the "mutant name."

"Don't call him that," I say sharply. Sean flinches, and I sigh, rubbing my eyes. "I'm sorry Sean."

"S'cool." But it bothers him. It bothers him a lot how much I'm hurting, what Erik did, how he's hurting - how we all are. And how lonely we feel after losing so many of our own. Alex shifts uncomfortably and glances several times at the young redhead sleeping.

"Sean's right. That girl… she looks like she could be his kid or something." It's not a question. He figured as much when he heard her last name. "What's she doing here?"

I clear my throat and hunch my shoulders a little. Anya probably doesn't want to speak of why she is in a hospital room with a virtual stranger. If she is anything like who we believe her father to be, then she most definitely will not want to talk about my comforting her the night before. But the threat she is under…

"Her adoptive parents were killed by mutants."

Stunned, horrified silence. That is all I receive from my students. Sean's mouth gapes open and Alex clenches his fists several times. I clear my throat and gesture to the sleeping girl. "She apparently ran with a piece of glass in her side to a gas station. Was brought here shortly after. They're not sure how she survived." The nurses that had been tittering at Anya earlier had been cooing over how brave she was while secretly thinking of miracles they were tactful enough to not say out loud.

"Is she a mutant?" Sean asks in shock, staring at Anya with a mix of awe and devastation. Alex's expression is stoic, but his fists are shaking. Protective Alex, who has a younger brother who will soon be this age and is desperately reminded of him. Concerned Alex, who knows what it's like to be alone. And determined Alex, who is eyeing the chair by Anya's bed and hoping she isn't so affected by what happened to be terrified to find a stranger there when she wakes up. He isn't thinking so much of whether she's a mutant, but rather if she'll be able to defend herself if something happens.

I have never been prouder of him.

"If she is, she isn't aware of it."

Finally, Alex speaks. "So she ran all the way to get help, at eleven years old, with a piece of glass in her gut, and no help from her powers if she has them?" I nod and we all stare at the young girl. "She's gotta be his kid."

I couldn't agree more.

XXX-XXX

Feelings of distress wake me incredibly early the next morning. I open my eyes to the sight of Alex cradling a sobbing Anya in his arms and quietly rocking her back and forth in his chair. He's not singing or humming, but just talking, telling her stories of his own foster families and avoiding asking her any questions. Being there. I watch but don't interfere as Alex finally gets her to laugh through her tears at a prank he pulled when he was her age. Eventually her sobs quiet and she simply clutches at his t-shirt. He brushes his fingers through her hair and squeezes her in a hug. "Do you wanna try and sleep again?" Anya shakes her head rapidly. "Okay. That's okay."

Anya leans her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. "Why?" Her young voice cracks on the word. Alex squeezes her tightly.

"Dunno. Monsters, I guess."

I don't say anything.

XXX-XXX

Two weeks pass, and Anya's side heals well enough with no signs of possible internal damage. At this point the hospital is hanging onto her mostly because there is nothing else _to do_ with her. There is no one else in her adoptive family, no aunts or uncles or living grandparents. The government officials who took a look at Anya's history turned several shades of white or scarlet when they saw who she is related to, confirming what we knew the second we heard her name, and hastily scratched off her father as a potential candidate (though possibly having to raise his pre-teen daughter might knock some sense into Erik). Anya was confused at even hearing her birth father was alive, stating, "I thought he died in a fire." She didn't look too enthusiastic about finding him, either. As far as I know they are still trying to locate her mother.

Alex rarely leaves that little girl's side; it's a platonic and pure love at first sight. Many of the nurses think that he actually _is_ her big brother on many meetings. Anya smiles when they say that but always contradicts them.

"I've never had a big brother before. Always just me, Mutti and Vatti," she told me one night when I finally convinced Alex to at least sleep in one of the available beds. She looked lost at the mention of her parents. "It feels nice."

"I imagine so," I said, "Though I am the big -" I halt my mouth by clamping it shut and Anya looks curious, but with that wisdom unbefitting her eleven years, doesn't ask.

I can't think of _her_. Not without falling apart.

Sean comes into the room with a bag obviously hidden in his jacket. He and Anya aren't as close as Alex and she already are, but she likes him well enough. "Hey kid, guess what I got!"

"Don't call me kid," she says sternly, with that expression that matches her father's. Sean just rolls his eyes, even though the _look_ still scares him a little, and huffs.

"Fine, I guess you don't want -"

"I'm sorry!" Anya hastily declares, throwing her arms up in the air in a gesture of surrender. Sean laughs at her before unzipping his jacket and tossing her the plastic bag. Anya winces a little when she catches it but then dives into the bag. "CHOCOLATE! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Who would've thought that Erik Lehnsherr's daughter would be capable of such excitement?

"Slow down Anya, you'll choke," I tell her. Sean smirks and ruffles her curls even as Anya gives me a chocolate-y grin. I sigh and she giggles through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Gonna share the contraband kid, or you keeping it all?" Anya teasingly brings it close to her chest and growls. Sean makes a swipe for the bag and she mimes biting his hand. "Hey dude! Watch it!" The little girl cackles and eats more chocolate. I shake my head in amusement. My boys; they are saving that child more than any doctor or psychiatrist could. Sean goofs with her to make her smile and Alex is the protective figure in her life she so desperately needs.

It will do her more harm to be away from them at this point.

Alex knocks before coming in the room. He smiles when he sees Anya is giggling before easing into the room. "Hey squirt, whatch'ya got there?"

"Don't call me squirt!"

"Yeah don't call her squirt!"

Alex punches Sean's shoulder and then sits next to Anya. In his hands is a black plastic bag. She looks at it curiously before going back to her chocolate. When her mouth is suitably full she holds the mountain of bars out to Alex and asks, "Wan' um?"

"Thanks." Alex rips off a piece and Anya squirms out from between the two boys to race across the room to me. She jumps onto the bed, bouncing a few times, before holding out the chocolate to me.

_You too, Mr. Xavier?_ she asks. I smile, laughing a little at how easily she accepts my telepathy, before breaking off a chunk for myself.

"Thank you darling." She beams and curls up next to me, very much like a little kitten looking for a warm spot to sleep in. I run my fingers through her curls and she hums happily. Alex unwraps a stuffed snowy owl from the black bag and hands it to her.

"They said you could have this," he murmurs. Anya's eyes go very wide and she gently takes the toy from Alex's hands, curling around it so tightly that it becomes barely visible.

"Snow," she whispers. Her big green eyes glance from me to Alex. "Thank you."

Alex clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. Sean nudges him and he glares. They get into a small scuffle while Anya giggles. A timid knock on the door breaks up the fight. Moira pokes her head in, a large manila envelope in her hands. She smiles at me and then looks at where Anya is currently using my arm as a shield to peak at the new person. "This must be Anya," she says with a smile. "Charles here has said a lot about you."

"Really?" she squeaks out. The older redheaded woman nods and sidles into the room. She can't help but feel uncomfortable in the young girl's presence, knowing what happened with her father - and that he's the reason why my legs no longer function or feel. Yet the young girl is completely oblivious of her father's actions, and will remain that way for as long as I am able to keep her in ignorance. Moira hands the envelope to me and then kneels beside the bed with a reassuring smile. "The hospital says you can go home today."

Any smile is wiped clean off of Anya's face. "I don't have a home," she says in a voice too serious and plain _knowing_ for her age.

And of course both boys immediately lurch up to destroy that particular notion.

"'Course you do, squirt!" Alex vehemently declares, leaning over Moira to ruffle Anya's hair.

"C'mon kid, we like ya - you really think we'd let you hang out to dry like that?" Sean teases. Poor Anya just looks extremely confused while Moira looks very much like she wants to laugh and to cry at the protectiveness the teenagers are showing for Erik's daughter.

"I don't understand."

Moira hands me a pen and I go through and initial the needed areas of the documents.

"We know you're birth father," I tell her calmly. Anya doesn't react verbally so I chance a glance at her face. She is watching the boys and occasionally me, her expression blank. "There's a very likely chance we will see him again in the near future." I pause in signing the documents to appraise her. Anya's full lips are pressing into a thin line. Usually with Erik that means - _meant_ - something bad was about to be done or said very shortly. I pray the same cannot be said for Anya. I gentle my voice and hope she will say something soon. "Until then, if you are willing, I'd like to be your legal guardian."

Silence. Holding our collective breath. Then…

"Live with you?"

"Yes."

"Until you find my father?"

"Longer, if you want."

"Why?"

I look at everyone present; at my students, at the female CIA officer, and finally at the young girl who has had literally everything ripped away from her in the past few weeks. Her home, her family, her life…

But maybe I can offer her a reprieve.

"Because I am - was," the past tense causes a lump to form in my throat, "a very good friend of your father's." A pause, where everyone is watching me with bated breath. "And because I believe very soon you are going to go through some changes."

_Changes_? Anya thinks in bewilderment. She is not speaking to me, but rather internally debating what I could possibly mean. I nudge her mind gently while Alex runs his fingers through her hair.

"Be like us," he interjects softly. The boys had explained what we are to Anya, doing their best to show what they could do so she would understand (though Alex had had to promise to show her when she was out of the hospital).

Anya's eyes go very, very wide. A quiet, "Really?" slips out of her peachy lips. Sean chuckles and steals some of the chocolate she has in a white knuckle grip in her hand.

"Yeah. Knowing your dad, you're going to be one badass chick!"

"Language Sean."

And the largest smile I've ever seen so far graces the child's face as her eyes light up with wonder. Then her arms are around me, the chocolate banging the back of my head and the toy my back as she hugs me so tightly I feel like she is crushing the breath from my body.

I embrace her just as tightly, and try to purge the resentment starting to take root in my soul even as happiness bursts in my conscious mind.

_Erik, you should be here._


	3. Chapter Two: To Protect

**Dedicated to ZabuzasGirl, because her command of "Update immediately, please!" cheered me up when I really fecking needed it yesterday. Thank you so much sweetie, and I'm sorry it's not immediate (though to be fair I was up pretty late last night trying to)!**

* * *

**Chapter Two: To Protect**

I pace the carpet nervously, glancing at the clock repeatedly. They should be here, right? The trip shouldn't take this long. Florida to New York by the CIA jets - they should have been here twenty minutes ago.

I shake my head and try to wrap my head around, yet again, the news of the latest addition to our much-smaller family unit. _Anya_. Sean had described her over the phone, but I doubted that without actually _meeting _the young girl, I wouldn't be able to completely visualize "Erik as a girl" without getting some disturbing results. _Erik's daughter_. That part is even stranger. Erik and _kids_? That is so completely foreign that it makes my thoughts reel. I always got the impression that Erik barely tolerated us; how in the _hell_ did he manage to have a _daughter?!_

Actually, does he even know she exists?

The questions in my head are derailed as the door opens and Charles appears in a wheelchair.

My heart stops.

Charles gives a rueful little smile as Sean wheels him into the foyer. "How have you been Dr. McCoy?" he asks lightly. I swallow hard around the lump in my throat and brush my claws through the thick blue fur on my head before pushing my glasses up my nose. Charles waits patiently for me to compose himself, something sad in his expression.

"Y'know, worried," I mumble eventually.

I knew. I knew before I was forced to come back up to New York or risk being exposed that Charles had been hurt extremely badly. I knew that he was paralyzed because Sean and Alex had called to tell me he was. But seeing the reality is somehow so much worse. It makes that devastating news _real _in a way a phone call can't.

Alex comes through the door with a tightly wrapped bundle in his arms. The sorrow in Charles' eyes becomes a companion to something else, something fierce and protective. It's that expression he had in his eyes when we flew in the jet to stop Shaw, gracing us each in turn. Love and worry. Fear and hope. Protectiveness and pride. "Ah yes. I'm afraid that was my fault. Anya is not as used to December weather in New York as she would've liked us to believe." A little smile tugs at his mouth. "I may have asked we pull over so we could outfit her properly."

"Squirt thought shorts were appropriate for snow," Alex snorts, shifting the bundle in his arms. It's only then that I make out the lump is one of Alex's jackets, wrapped around a tiny person with a shock of dark hair and pale skin dotted with golden freckles. Her eyes are hidden, as is most of her face, but it's quite obvious that she's sleeping. Sean comes in moments later, followed by Agent MacTaggert, huffing as he hauls a bright purple suitcase behind him.

"Why do I have to bring in her luggage?" the redhead whines. Alex shrugs and shifts the young girl in his arms. She mumbles in her sleep before burrowing into his chest.

"'Cause I got her."

"You've got two hands!"

"So do you."

"Boys," Charles admonishes gently, but with a smile. Sean and Alex relent with traded smiles and a few laughs. "Hank would you be so kind as to help us with the bags?"

"Sure," I say, and am about to head out the door when a thought occurs to me. "The room across from Alex's is cleaned out, if you want to put her in there."

Charles' eyes gleam and he nods, a hint of a smile playing around his lips. "Thank you so much Hank."

It's easy enough to grab the last few bags they brought with them - barely enough to fill two duffel bags with, really - and head back inside. Alex is in the kitchen with Sean, arguing over whether they use the kettle or a pot to boil milk for hot chocolate. Briefly I wonder if there's a fire extinguisher in there but decide against checking when the sound of the stove turning on reaches me. Frankly, I haven't been around them in the kitchen with fur yet, and it is not an experience I am looking forward to.

I head into the hall and follow the sound of voices to where Moira and Charles are talking in quiet tones, mindful of listening ears. I know he must know I'm here, but I slow my steps anyway, and listen into the conversation. "What if she turns out like her father, Charles? 'Mutant supremacy' and all? If she has powers anything like his -"

"I fear the opposite might be more capable of happening." Charles' response is subdued and sounding worn. "Her parents were killed by mutants, Moira. Would she really support a cause that would result in other children going through the same pain she is currently battling?" I can tell he's shaking his head. "No, if anything she will believe mutants are something to be abhorred, to be feared, and once that hatred has taken root there will be very little we can do to dissuade it."

"So you want to get her used to mutants, show her you aren't all bad?" Moira's voice is skeptical.

"Anya's young, her ideologies are only just forming. She is already quite close to Alex. I am hopeful that it shouldn't take too much effort to convince her of that." There's definitely amusement in his voice. But there's a note of sadness in Moira's when she reads the subtext to Charles' intentions.

"There's no guarantee that he will stay - or even come - if he knows he has a daughter here," she chides him gently. Silence. "Charles…"

"We'll have to find him to tell him she's here." There's a note of stubbornness in Charles' voice that is reminiscent of Erik's own bullheaded nature. I sigh to myself. How things will work with those two…

"Whoa." I startle, not having heard anyone approach, and turn to stare down at a little girl no more than five feet tall, with wild dark red curls that must be at least four inches of that height, and a face that reminds me vividly of the father figure that abandoned us on a beach.

She really _does_ look like Erik as a girl.

Big green eyes analyze me from the bottom of my furry toes to the the blue fur cresting the top of my head. Her skin is pale beneath golden freckles, but as a slow smile creeps over those peachy lips, I realize that that's her normal skin color. "You're a _bear_," she says in awe. I shrug and wish desperately to be anywhere else. I'm still not used to this, being a huge _beast_. But Anya doesn't look afraid - if anything, she looks intrigued. "Am I going to look like you?" she asks in a chipper voice.

_What?_

"Alex says I'm going to be a… a… a _mutant_ like them. But am I going to look like you? They don't." _Oh._ Her face is eager, a smile so bright it could power New York City stealing across her lips.

Eventually I regain the use of my voice. "I don't know. Probably not. I um… I did this to myself." Embarrassment leaks into my voice. Anya tilts her head and purses her lips in confusion.

"Why?" I shake my head. How do you explain to an eleven-year-old still figuring out her own personality and body that someone can hate who they are enough to risk a procedure to possibly change?

"Long story. C'mon. Alex and Sean were going to make hot chocolate, last I saw." The smile is back. She skips along beside me - and oh my God _Erik Lehnsherr's daughter skips!_ - and begins chattering.

"So this is a school?"

"Hopefully soon." I guide the young girl through twisting hallways back to the kitchen. She bounces a little, curls flying, before grabbing my furry hand and leaning on my side. The contact is foreign and very warm, more than I've had really since I turned into this. She's not afraid though, running her fingers through my fur in bewildered excitement, and then leaning her curly head against my arm. I don't really know what to do; they didn't exactly teach "how to deal with eleven-year-old girls" at Harvard.

"Does that mean I have to go to regular school too? Or am I going here?" That question stumps me for a second. Eventually I shrug and gesture with me free hand for her to go into the kitchen first. She forgets her question when she sees Alex. Her smile widens, if possible, and she races into the kitchen. The usually stoic and "manly" blonde teen drops what he's doing to scoop her up in a bear hug before letting her wrap her arms around his neck and hang on his back like a monkey.

"Hey squirt! Awake already?" he teases. She nods and looks around at the kitchen.

"You didn't say you lived in a _mansion_!" she shrieks. Alex winces and rubs an ear but doesn't tell her to get off. He shrugs and Sean laughs, pouring out the hot chocolate for everyone. Anya scrambles down from Alex's back and takes a seat at the table, reaching for one glass with her small hands. Alex hovers right over her shoulder, the protective big brother that is waiting for a moment to jump in and save his baby sister.

The sight makes me chuckle. Sean catches my eye and laughs.

"So, kid, you like your room?" he volunteers. Anya nods and takes a sip of her hot chocolate, watching all of us.

"S'big," she finally says through a chocolate mustache. Sean laughs and Alex hands her a napkin. Sheepishly she takes it and wipes her face. "Bigger than my old room. Can I paint the walls purple? Mutti made my walls pink but I don't really like pink." Of course she doesn't.

"Sure. I'll even help you," Alex tells her, ruffling her curls. She gives him a look that has the mug of hot chocolate in my hands sliding down the table. Sean catches it and slides it back with a smirk.

"Yeah that's how we figured it out," he laughs at my expression. Alex simply smiles and ruffles her hair some more, making her scowl just like her father and bat at his hands.

I have no idea what to expect from Anya. She's literally being set up just like her father was - pain and anger lingering in a face too young to know how to deal, how to be _more_ than her rage_._ She could just as easily head down the same path if no one stops her; Charles is right to worry about what'll happen if distaste for mutants sets up this early in her mind. Even now, as she laughs with Alex and scrambles to get her hot chocolate back, there's a viciousness in her swipes and punches that makes me cringe and remember a man as harsh as he was protective. I can see how she might become if we let her. And if she inherits anything remotely like her father's abilities we could all be in a very large amount of trouble very soon. It's a lot to think about after only just meeting the young girl.

The question lingers on my mind, clouding my thoughts and seeding doubt even as I laugh at her antics: will she be like us… or like him?

XXX-XXX

Two days later, I'm working in the lab. It's closing in on midnight and my eyes are getting bleary, the test-tube in my hands coming in and out of focus. I set it down and sigh. Another failure. I'm hoping that maybe, just _maybe_, there's a way to bring back Charles' legs. But already I'm losing hope on that one. Nothing, not a single thing in this lab, is enough to mend a spinal cord shattered by a bullet.

It's depressing that as smart as I supposedly am, I can't do anything to help.

A timid knock sounds on the door, startling me back to full awareness, and then it squeaks open a crack. "Can I come in?" Anya's timid - _Erik's daughter, timid?_ - voice asks. I groan and nod.

"Sure, just be careful, okay?" I tell her. The door cautiously opens and then Anya steps in, swaddled in a thick white nightgown and clutching her stuffed owl to her chest. Big eyes look up at me, harshened by the dark smudges and the bags sagging below the socket. "You should be sleeping," I chastise gently. She nods and stumble-steps into the room.

"I know. Just… don't want to." Honesty. That's one thing you can count on Anya for - if you can get her to talk about what's bothering her at all, she'll be honest. And every concern I have of the young girl ebbs away for a moment as the heartbreak sets in. With a sigh I get up and cross the room towards her. As soon as I'm close enough she grabs at my arm and buries her head into the fur. I falter for only a second at the gesture that's quickly becoming a habit for her before tugging her along.

"Want some hot chocolate? Would that help?" I ask with as little growl to my voice as possible. She nods but won't let my arm go.

In two days Anya has squealed over Alex's laser beams, demanded to see more of Charles' telepathy, and attempted to jump off a roof so Sean will take her flying. She sees us as mutants - people. But she's also gotten maybe three hours of sleep total in the two days she's been here. She just… _can't. _She dreams of the "freaks" every night, of her parents, and of blood. What little sleep the poor girl gets usually ends in screams.

So Anya won't. She certainly inherited her stubbornness from her father.

I lead her to the kitchen and practically have to rip my arm from her so I can make her the hot chocolate. Immediately she curls up around her stuffed animal and buries her head in her arms so her unruly curls are splayed all over the place. I sigh. They really should make more accurate books on how to deal with traumatized children…

I put a saucepan of milk on the stove and rip into a packet of chocolate, pouring it into the mug I have set out for her. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask quietly. I glance behind me to see the curls moving in a definitive headshake. No, of course not. Only with Alex or Charles. "Okay then. Let's see about getting you some hot chocolate and some sleep, yeah?" Another headshake. "Anya you need to sleep."

She lifts her head and juts her chin _and we are in for some _long _teenage years_. "No," she says bluntly and with the flippant petulance only preteens seem to carry. The milk starts to boil, so with a groan I pull the saucepan off and pour a hearty amount into the mug.

Alex is so much better at this.

A knock sounds at the door. Curious, I hand Anya her mug and pull her into the foyer. "Who could that be?" I wonder aloud. She shrugs and blows on her hot chocolate, but the way her green eyes flicker over the door betray her.

"Answer it and see," she says with that tone half-curious and half-determined, and for one wild second I think it's Erik standing next to me. I have to check and make sure that it is in fact a four-foot-nine eleven-year-old girl and not a genocidal maniac I used to look up to.

It takes me far too long to find my voice. "Anya I can't," I tell her. She cocks her head and looks me over.

"Why not?"

Does she really not understand?

"Sweetie I'm blue." It's the first time I will use the endearment. She blinks and tilts her head the other way.

"So?"

With the single syllable she assuages many of my worries about her.

"I'll get it!" And with those three words she brings up a whole new set.

"Anya wait -!" But she's already tugging her hand from mine and sprinting to the door, opening it just enough to peer out. In retrospect, that was probably for the best. Because she was so tiny when she was eleven, so small, that she could look up without anyone seeing her against the backdrop of shadows in the foyer. The perfect height to see their pale faces in the darkness while being only a part of the scenery.

They can't see her.

But she can see them.

Anya's scream can rival Sean's sonic screech.

She's throwing the still hot liquid in her hands out the door and then slamming it as hard as she can with her eleven year old strength. I race forward and help her close it even as confusion and panic whirls in my mind. Whoever is on the other side is pushing back, hard. A set of fingers curls around the door, dark claws digging ominously into the wood. I slam hard and there's a howl as the fingers are viciously broken, before they recede. I bolt the door and Anya yanks on my arm. "C'mon c'mon!" We're barely around the corner before there's the sound of wood shattering behind us. Anya yelps before catching herself and clapping her hands over her mouth.

And then we're running. At one point I scoop her up and put her on my shoulders before tearing down the hall with her. But one of them is just as fast as me. Maybe faster. I skid to a halt in front of a spare room and dive inside, closing the door so gently there's barely a creak from the wood.

The thing that chased us stops seconds after, sniffing hard. He cradles two of his clawed fingers in his hand.

He's tall, much taller than a man should be, with thick blonde hair that hits about mid chest and dark eyes that seem to swallow up his pupils. He curls his lip to reveal fangs about as long as my pinky finger - which considering my mutation is pretty damn long. He inhales again, growling all the while, dark eyes checking every door. Beside me Anya trembles, keeping her hands firmly over her mouth in case of any noise that could possibly leak out. Tears streak down her face unchecked. Gently I press her closer to my side, but never take my eyes off the mutant outside.

Another man - mutant - silently appears. This one is pale as the moon, with black veins scrawling across his skin in a morbid pattern. Eyes like the first mutant's appraise the hallway before he runs his hands through hair that is midnight blue. "Damn it, Saber, you sure your cop buddy told you the right house?" There's thick frustration in his unnaturally high voice. The man called Saber simply growls at him through his fangs before skulking further down the hall. "That even the Lehnsherr brat or just some rich twat?" I pull Anya closer and wish I could cover her ears.

"It's her. Can smell her." Saber's voice is low and intimidating, more noise than actual vocal cords at work. The blue-haired man snorts.

"Yeah, 'cause that helped us fuckin' find her the first time."

"If you had killed her instead of playing with that mother, we wouldn't be here in the first place."

"I thought I did!" The blue-haired man whined. "I shoved her through a goddamn window on the top floor! Amount of blood she was trailing… Hold up." His cold eyes move over our door and down the hallway, narrowing at something. My thoughts are in a roundabout, flickering with thoughts that won't settle. He _pushed _her? How could she… I know she's Erik's kid, but how could anyone…

How could these sick bastards do that to an eleven year old girl?

Saber growls suddenly, drawing in a harsh breath. "What the fu-"

Sean's sonic scream drops them to the ground.

Anya cries out and claps her hands over her ears. I curl over her and growl, wincing at the noise but more worried about the young girl pressed into my side. Suddenly the blue-haired man shoots to his feet and levels his hands where the noise is coming from, black tipped and wicked spikes shooting out of his wrist and coming to a stop four feet from his hands. He screams and darts down the hallway, wiping his hands around to slash at Sean. Distantly I hear his sonic screech tapers off and I hear the blue-haired mutant chase after my brother. Saber is growling and stumbling to his feet, spinning on the spot and angrily hissing through his fangs. And still blocking the damn door. Maybe I could take him as I am now, but there's no goddamn way I can risk it when I've got Anya trembling like a leaf in a storm beside me. I almost growl in annoyance before I catch myself. Abruptly Saber spins on the spot and slams open a door. "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT?!" he roars. Anya buries her face into my fur and quakes. He slams into another door, ripping it off its hinges. A third one follows. Then, "WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"Behind you," Alex's voice responds, hard and lethal. Saber turns in surprise milliseconds before a plasma beam to slam into the big man's chest and shoot him out of sight. "Anya? Anya where are you?" His voice is panicked and protective, a whisper that is meant for her ears only. The little girl goes pelting out the door before I can snatch her back, and when I open the door and shamble into the hall, he's clutching Anya tightly to him, rocking back and forth and whispering words meant only for her ears. Anya sobs into his shoulder and I place a hand on her back.

"How'd they find me why why why…" Alex hushes her and I rub her back soothingly. We all cringe as Sean's scream rips through the hallways, even louder than before. I'm not sure, but I'm leaning towards that particular one being fatal.

"You're going to go stay with Moira, okay? Yeah? She'll take care of you while we deal with the other one." Alex's eyes are tight as he bolts from the room, and I rush after him. Up a flight of stairs and down a twisting hallway to where Moira is anxiously pacing, her gun in hand. "Alex," she says when she sees the blonde teen. "What's going on? I heard Sean scream -"

"I need you to take her," he says, spitting the words out as if they physically pain him. Moira doesn't ask, her eyes snapping to the young girl. She holsters her gun and reaches out for Anya, who goes willingly enough.

At least until we turn away.

"NO!" she screams, grabbing a chunk of my fur and a good portion of Alex's shirt. "No don't!" Tears run down her face and she refuses to unclench her fingers. It hurts but I don't make her let go. Both of us turn simultaneously and put soothing hands on her - Alex her cheek, me her head.

"Hey, hey, squirt we'll be okay," Alex tells her gently.

"We'll be right back sweetie," I plead with her. "Okay? Promise. Ten minutes."

She doesn't want to. _Really_ doesn't want to. Later, when things have calmed down, I'll ask her why. But Anya Lehnsherr is as closed mouthed as her father; she'll say she was worried, but about what, she'll change the subject or simply not speak. Maybe she was afraid we wouldn't come back, maybe she was worried about being left with a woman she had barely spoken to for more than five minutes, or maybe she was terrified about being without us (because I don't think she's gone more than five minutes without one of us in two days). I don't know.

All I know is that it physically hurt to pry her fingers off of me and leave her behind like that.

Alex and I run back down the stairs to the Professor's room. He's there, a frown on his face as he regards a silent body. Sean paces nervously beside his chair, skin ashen below his freckles. Charles looks up and regards us silently. There's something about his eyes that scares me more than a little, that has the hairs on my neck standing straight up in a silent whine of fear. He ducks his head but the firm set of his lips does not waver. Then: "Where's Anya?" And I realize it's a mixture of fury and fear, clouding his features into an unreadable mask. It's an expression that I often saw on Erik's face.

It makes me uneasy to see it on Charles' usually gentle features.

"Safe with Moira," Alex says tightly, glaring down at the mutant who is most decidedly dead. Sean glances at the body and suddenly claps a hand over his mouth as if he's going to vomit. Sometimes I forget that he's only sixteen, and I'm not much older. We've never killed before.

Though Alex doesn't look particularly bothered by the corpse.

"Prof, how did you not -"

"They weren't thinking," he interrupts, as if he knew the question. Maybe he did. "They weren't blocked, they just weren't _thinking._" He rubs a hand over his face and then over the arms of his chair in agitation. "It was like they were there but… _not_. I've never felt anything like that before."

"Were they in anyway telepathic?" I ask tightly. He shakes his head and I can hear the collective breath being drawn.

"They weren't _there_," Charles mutters in frustration. "They were walking and talking and obviously their minds worked but they were not there. It was like they…" A look of shock graces his face and my wariness increases.

"What?" Sean whispers. He's gotten control over his need to throw up but he's still too pale. Seeing this, the Professor frowns and reaches for him. Sean hastily moves over and the man we see as a father wraps an arm around him in a comforting embrace. With a sigh Charles sags back into his chair.

"Like they were controlled," he says flatly.

XXX-XXX

"Anya, you need to eat," Alex chides her gently. Anya scrapes her cereal around in the bowl half-heartedly but I notice she doesn't eat anything. She keeps looking at the door and cringing every time it creaks. It's oddly warm and bright, the outside world vibrant and alive for a single day in December. It's at odds with what happened only last night. Sean shambles into the kitchen, bags under his eyes, and for once avoids the fridge.

Anya scrambles out of her chair to throw her arms around him in a hug. He stumbles back but accepts the embrace easily enough. "Easy, kid, I'm alright," he mumbles. Anya only squeezes him tighter.

"Stay okay," she whimpers into his stomach, in that too-knowing-for-her-age voice.

If we could only promise her we would.

Charles eventually reappears after seeing Moira to her car, looking weary and withdrawn. When I ask when we'll see her again, he just says, "I don't think we will."

I don't want to ask.

I examine the bodies, testing tissue and blood, and get some disturbing results from the blood tests but otherwise can't tell what was wrong with them. The results match nothing I've ever seen before. Whatever was wrong with them is nearly untraceable and is certainly unknown.

We all take shifts sleeping with Anya at night, until she finally goes eight hours without a nightmare. By that point December rolls into January. Belatedly, I realize we missed both Christmas and New Years.

It would be another four weeks before we all started to laugh and smile again.

For Anya to become a beloved and bright nuisance with a penchant for frequent explosions.

For her to go to a public school while we waited for the documents to go through on Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters.

For our training to resume.

For the whole in our hearts over our missing family members to stitch itself a little, though easily torn.

For our lives to resume.

We found Anya Lehnsherr in November of 1972.

But our lives with her really began in February 1973.


	4. Chapter Three: To Tell Her

**Aw! Love you guys too! :)**

**I'm sorry this is late, I just started college a little over a week ago (!) and I am SUPER busy! Chapters will be scattered but I promise, I will keep updating whenever I have time.**

**Let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Chapter Three: To Tell Her (November 1973)**

BANG!

Four voices at once: "ANYA!"

"I DIDN'T DO IT!" This said while twelve-year-old feet sprint away from the general direction of the lab. I roll my eyes and sigh, getting up with a groan from the couch. A bushy mane of wild auburn curls goes flying by me, trailing the thick smell of smoke behind her. The Professor only makes her cut her hair if she manages to burn it into uneven patches, so I guess it's another embarrassing trip to the mall with my little sister and another embarrassing explanation to the stylist why Anya's three-feet-long curls have six inches missing from one side.

Though I did get to pick up that pretty brunette the last time… What can I say? Big brothers are apparently hot.

I get to the lab just as Bozo is leaving it. "What'd she make blow up this time?" I ask. I'm not even really sure how she does it most of the time, but always she makes technology defy its nature and have epic suicides in the lab. Bozo glares at me and paws at the burn pattern on his arm.

"You don't want to know," he says darkly.

"C'mon, it can't be as bad as when she tried to fix the toaster! Least you've still got your eyebrows this time!" You'd think after she burned most of the fur off his face with that particular incident he'd ban her from being in the lab altogether. But as seems to be the norm for Lehsnherr's baby girl, none of us can deny what she truly wants. Flash of those big green eyes and a small pout from those peachy lips, and we're all scrambling to do what she wants... within reason.

It should be more disturbing how she has us wrapped around her little finger like that, but after a year of it, we're kind of used to being enslaved by a twelve-year-old.

Charles rolls by the lab, an amused twitch to his lips. "Was the fire extinguisher neccessary this time or should I just call the fire department?"

"Put itself out," Hank mumbles. "Low grade explosive. Very unstable but not a lot of it, thank God."

"Showing a knack for chemistry," Charles laughs. "Should be worried when she starts figuring out formulas."

"No, we should run away. As fast as possible," I say bluntly. Charles laughs again. It's good to hear him laugh. He doesn't very often anymore - only around or about Anya it seems most days. Then again the twelve-year-old doesn't treat him like he's going to shatter into a million pieces, or like he's disabled.

He's her biggest hero next to me.

Charles nods his head and gestures for us to follow him. "Have you made any headway on the compound you found in those mutants, Dr. McCoy?" he asks. Hank shrugs which I guess means 'no.' A year later and we still have no idea what was in those people that made them act like killers. We don't really talk about that night much, except for the drug; Anya always gets really quiet, and Sean looks green at being reminded that he killed somebody. It's nearly as taboo as Anya's parents and Cuba. And that Moira mysteriously has no clue about any of us anymore. And Erik and Raven.

There's a lot we can't talk about in the mansion.

"Yo! You guys coming?" Sean shouts from the living room. "It's going to come on in a second!" Hank hastily gets behind Charles' chair and wheels him while I follow at a jog. Sean is sitting on the couch with a big plate of cookies, courtesy of the Beast, while Anya practically hides beneath it. Charles stops his chair and gives the spot where Anya's curls are clearly visible a hard look. Sheepishly she crawls out from underneath and offers a meek smile. They do that weird telepath talking thing, Charles' fingers at his temple and Anya's eyes narrowing slightly like she's concentrating really hard, and then Anya smiles brightly and Charles raises an eyebrow.

"Understand?" Charles asks, a hint of that impish grin I haven't seen in a year tugging at his mouth.

"Yep!" she says, bouncing next to Sean on the couch. "Gimme a cookie."

"Anya."

"Please."

"Prof, what did you tell her?" I ask. Hank looks equally worried while Sean just snickers into his plate. Anya snatches a few cookies off the plate, making sure the Prof gets one before diving into her own set. We're all convinced she's going to go through a massive growth spurt soon with the way she eats but never seems to get over a hundred pounds.

"Nothing of importance," Charles says breezily, which makes me scoff and Hank cringe.

"Professor she's going to make it in _my _lab, whatever it is!" Hank protests.

"And Sean's going to set it off in _my_ room," I add.

"Only if you're a pain in the ass."

"Sean, language."

"Sorry Professor."

"I'm not that bad." This from Anya, who has that indignant expression on her face that usually spells trouble for all of us.

"Yes you are," the rest of us say at once. She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, pouting slightly. I chuckle and drop into the spot next to her, facing the little TV over on the wall. The announcers are preparing to show the President over in Texas, talking rapidly and in an almost dazed excitement that's a bit contagious. Handing more cookies to Anya, the Professor makes himself comfortable next to her. Without thinking about it my little sister stretches out so her head rests on Charles' shoulder over the arm of the couch, with her legs draped over my lap and her toes prodding Sean in the side. If she could she'd probably stretch until she could brush her big toe across Hank's fur, but she's not quite long enough to do that yet.

It's a habit she's developed; she always seems to need to touch one of us when she's relaxed, an unconscious need to feel our body heat and know we're there. None of us ever talk about it, except to acknowledge that she is more damaged than she would like us to believe. Or rather, admit. The Prof and I have stayed up with her whenever the nightmares come back, Hank is basically her walking teddy bear/safety blanket, and Sean is… Sean. Sometimes I think he's the only thing that can make her laugh.

"Y'know, I think that JFK is probably a mutant."

Like now.

Anya snorts and starts chuckling. "He's been a jerk to all mutants since last year! He ordered a strike in… where was it? Anyway, you guys probably saw it. There were these mutants and they were trying to help or something and then he was an asshole."

We all go still. The Professor doesn't even reprimand her for language.

Did I forget to mention that when we don't talk about Cuba we... _neglected_ to tell her _we_ were the group there?

Anya of course, notices. She lifts her head from the Professor's shoulder and opens her mouth to ask a question - _the_ question I know her genius little twelve-year-old brain is slowly figuring out - but I shift quickly so she slides down into the back of the couch. sean, catching on quickly, pins Anya's toes before she can get the "oof!" out, keeping her feet hostage. And the Professor leans over so that she loses her last escape, not being able to wiggle free over the arm without knocking him out of the chair.

This leaves Hank to gently tickle her - and distract her.

"HEY! Stop… why… cut…" She laughs so hard that her face turns red and she struggles to breathe, but we don't let up. Anya shrieks and giggles and threatens when she can and struggles with surprisingly developed muscles, until finally she gets a foot loose in her squirming and nails Sean across the cheek. A look of absolute horror crosses the features so much like Erik's and we all sit back, letting Sean get up with a groan so he can clutch his face. "Oh my God, Sean, I am _so sorry!_" she exclaims, leaping over my lap and nearly striking my groin with her knee. Hastily I sit up fully and draw my ankles in to protect myself. "Are you alright? Do you need ice? I can go get ice!" She's up before any of us can stop her and bolting downstairs to the kitchen, intent on finding probably a bunch of ice cubes she'll mostly spill on the floor in the race to get back to us.

"Anyone else think it's weird that Erik's kid hates hurting anyone?" Sean asks around his fingers. The Professor's jaw tightens but he answers the question quietly anyway.

"Erik… Erik did feel concern for those of us he deemed worthy… of it." I can practically feel the pain those words must cause him, the subtext within them that grates across my emotions in a way that is still raw, still bleeding. A year later and we still can't find our elusive teacher and fellow student. Charles has tried but that helmet…

God, Erik most likely doesn't even know he's got a kid.

He hasn't checked on any of us.

We're not worthy of his concern.

… And it hurts.

I elbow Sean in the ribs hard enough that he groans. "Alex, that was inappropriate," the Professor says half-heartedly. I duck my head but I can't feel ashamed for it. Sean looks upset now that he actually gets what he said, and lowers his head too.

But Bozo is the one who finally says what needs to be asked.

"Should we tell Anya?" he says, wringing his furry fingers together. "About her dad."

Charles' response is a gunshot. "Absolutely not. She doesn't need to have her impression of him determined by us."

But that's not true. Because Anya already knows what she thinks of him.

Charles just doesn't want to believe it.

"Prof, she's not stupid," I say lowly. Charles actually glares at me. I cringe but keep going anyway. "Look, she knows something's up. It's been a year and we still haven't found him. She mentions Cuba, or 'the guy who shot you,' and we go quiet. She hears about a terrorist named Magneto and she sees our reaction. And…" The hard one.

"She hasn't asked about her dad in nearly seven months," Sean finishes quietly. The red marring his chin only makes his somber look more grim. "Just mutants. Just what her powers could be, and when. Not if they'd be like him."

It's a bit of a surprise that Sean finished that thought, but there's the crux of it. Even _Sean_ notices. The Professor looks like he's been slapped.

No one dares speak in the hushed silence. No one even really _moves_ except to watch the progression on the television, President Kennedy waving merrily from the back of an open limo while crowds cheer in Texas for him. It's grim in the room, heavy, pressing; no one wants to keep talking about the inevitable, yet no one really wants to back out either. Because backing out is not going to help the young girl who sees us as her family, nor help us patch ourselves slowly together again. We need to acknowledge this, that Anya is making choices just like her father did, only in a different way that could have horrible consequences later.

Because what if he finally comes back and Anya hates him? Wants him as far from her as possible?

I watch the Professor out of the corner of my eye, the drawn expression and tight lips speaking volumes his telepathy even can't. I wouldn't have a problem with Magneto never setting foot in our lives again, but I'm not completely stupid either. Charles… well, frankly, he cares about the bastard in a way that gives hope for humanity even as it makes your chest ache with loneliness because no one sees you like that. And he loves Anya like she's his own flesh-and-blood daughter. If she doesn't want Erik around…

It'd be like choosing between a spouse and a child.

No wonder Charles doesn't want to talk about it.

"What the…?" Hank's exclamation draws my eyes from Charles to him, where he's watching the TV in horror. The president is leaning forward on the grainy picture, clutching his throat while his wife hovers around him. A spike of fear shoots through me even as confusion muddles my brain. I don't understand the mix of emotions clashing in my head and making my eyes pulse. But in a way I do.

The way he's gasping in pain…

It's like when Charles was...

"Hey what did I -"

Anya comes back into the room just in time to see the second bullet pierce Kennedy's skull and spray his brain over the limo.

Charles is shouting at me to cover her eyes but it's already too late. I'm bounding over the couch and grasping her in a bear hug, the bag of frozen peas squished between my chest and her palm, and a scream already tearing out of her twelve-year-old throat. Charles wheels over as fast as he can, grasping at Anya's hands and demanding that Sean turns off the TV. Dimly I hear the noise cut off, leaving a room full of people who just watched the leader of their country _die_ on live television.

I don't think it can get any worse.

Only it does.

Charles guides us all into the kitchen while Hank sprints to the lab, probably calling up whatever friends he has in D.C. or to turn on a radio where Anya can't hear. I usher my distraught sister into a chair and Charles immediately grasps her hands, saying soothing words both aloud and silently. Tears stream down Anya's face and she looks like she might faint.

And suddenly I get it.

Her parents.

_Shit._

Sean shakily collapses into the seat beside Anya, slinging an arm around her shoulders but looking very much like he might throw up any second. When Charles takes a second to comfort my "brother" I gather up Anya in a reassuring hug and hang on as tightly as I can.

"You're okay, you're safe hey, shhh," I repeat over and over, my anxiety rising as the shaking gets worst and worst. Eventually Charles places his fingers against his temple and Anya slumps into blissful unconsciousness before she can upgrade to a full panic attack. I pick her up and carry her down to her room, laying her on the bed adorned with more pillows and blankets than she even really needs.

This hasn't been the first time Charles has had to knock her out before she ended up shrieking and hurting herself in a fit of remembered panic. The worst time she sliced her arm open with a falling vase trying to hide under a table about three months after she got here. It wouldn't have been bad - it was a fairly shallow cut - but she managed to nick an artery in her wrist, so by the time I got to her, she was limp with exhaustion and minor blood loss. The Professor simply renders her unconscious now when she reaches those dangerous levels.

I sit with her for a while, stroking her wild curls back from her face and taking her hand in both of mine whenever she begins to shake again. It's not a true sleep, but she'll wake up without the shadows plaguing her every step and with a sense of calm now that the worst is over. It's the most we can do really.

Eventually there's a knock on the door, and I get up to answer it. It's Hank, looking more drawn and worried than I've ever seen him before. "What's up?" I ask quietly.

"How's Anya?" he counters. I shrug because what else can I say? She's not exactly stellar, but she's not going to accidentally kill herself right now.

"Going to wake up soon, so hurry up Bozo -"

"It was Erik."

_What?_

The shock on my face must show my question, because Hank nods and shuffles his big feet. I glance out the big window composing one wall at the rapidly darkening sky. Already they know? "They caught him trying to flee the scene. Apparently the bullet curved." There's a dark shadow hanging over his furry face that makes him look beyond intimidating in his mutation. "There's evidence that he was planning to be there at that time, at that place, with a loaded gun."

_Oh God._

I want him to say it's a joke. Some fucking prank he and Sean came up with. But Bozo doesn't prank and this… Even Sean wouldn't think it's funny.

"Does the Professor know?" I whisper. Hank just gives me a look. Of course he does.

I hate Erik a little bit more for that.

I sigh and thunk my head against Anya's door. "Shit."

"Very much so," Hank mutters. I groan and rub a hand over my face.

"What do we do now?"

But even the genius looks lost.

Hank leaves to go talk with Charles and tell Sean, and I turn back into the room to check on Anya. But she's awake, and watching. And I know she heard enough, if not all, of that exchange.

And the look on her little sharp face…

"It was my dad, wasn't it. He shot the president." Not a question, which hurts more than I can say. I wince and Anya takes that for a yes. Her green eyes are so much older than her twelve years, jaded with pain and anger only the truly traumatized can fully understand. I know she knows the answer even before she asks the question we've been dreading for over a year now. "Who shot Charles, Alex? Who put our father into a wheelchair?"

"Anya, it's not that simple," I try. I'm floundering, because _oh God she's too young_, and Jesus Christ I'm going to fuck this up. She will hate her father forever if I don't do this right. And Charles, kind-hearted, loving Charles, will never forgive me if I turn Erik's daughter against him. And that thought terrifies me, halting my usually aggressive vocabulary on the blonde shit who left our family and took Charles' sister with him, leaving us broken and with his daughter to put back together too. But Anya just grimaces and buries her head into the pillow.

"It was him." She's decided already.

I can tell her. I can tell her about how her father grew up, about how this hatred for humans developed. I can tell her about her father's ideals. I can tell her about Cuba, and all we lost there. I can tell her about Shaw, and Cerebro, and Charles and Erik and Raven and the first class and Moira and the pressure of being a mutant and how we don't _want_ her to hate Erik because that's not fair to her or to Charles or to (and I can't believe I'm even _thinking _this) Erik.

I can make her see that people are not as full of greed and hate as she is slowly coming to believe of the world outside our family.

But all that comes out is, "It's not that simple," again.

I can't really tell her, maybe because I don't even really believe that myself.

8


	5. Chapter Four: To Love

**OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY!**

**I am sorry this is late! I am sorry I had such bad writer's block! I am sorry I didn't put the time on the last chapter (which I have re-uploaded)! And most importantly... I AM SO SORRY THAT I DIDN'T MENTION THAT THERE WILL BE SPOILERS FOR THE LATEST MOVIE! I AM SO SORRY!**

**I'm so sorry this is late, but it was originally supposed to be Sean's point of view... and I couldn't do it. At all. No inspiration - it's like there's a block in my head when I try to imagine what Sean's thinking. So I just did a chapter from an outsider's perspective... and will have to do Sean later. I actually like this chapter though, because though it's not Charles/family feels as much, you can definitely see how Anya is becoming HIS daughter (the end scene look familiar in any way?). So I hope you like it.**

**As a sorry for the very late update I am uploading the next chapter (which is complete) this Friday! I have a midterm coming up so I really need to focus on that anyway.**

**Thank you to all the people who keep reviewing and favoriting and following, you guys make my world each time! Love you all, and this for everyone who has stuck with me through lack of updates!**

* * *

**Chapter Four: To Love (September 1964)**

The first time I see Anya Lehnsherr, I think she looks like a pretty little boy.

To be fair, she doesn't dress like a girl. She's in old-looking overalls, a grey T-Shirt with the Captain America shield on it, and scuffed up Chucks. And her hair is in a tight little bun at the base of her skull so all I can see is she has dark red hair. She's dirty too; there's black stuff on one of her pale cheeks, and a smudge of it on her nose. Girls don't like to get dirty, especially on the first day of school. They like to play with dresses and be annoying, like my little sister. I think she's lying when our eighth grade teacher says that Anya is a girl, but whatever.

Anya has this look on her face the entire time like she'd like to be anywhere else. She keeps wringing her fingers together and looking at the clock, a frown on her big lips. She huffs a lot too, glaring at the board and then her fingers, getting crosser by the minute. I don't get why. Maybe it's a girl thing?

Eventually the bell rings and she sprints out the door like someone lit a fire under her. I raise an eyebrow and keep walking. At thirteen, with my fourteenth birthday soon to come, I don't have time for stupid girls. I see her while I wait for my dad to pick me up in the truck that is barely holding onto the few bolts it has left. She's hanging half out of a car window while two older boys, one with red hair like her and one with blonde, laugh at her. It's weird to see that; shouldn't they be telling her to stop goofing and get the hell into the car yet? My dad would. My mom too come to think of it. But even though everyone stares the three weirdos couldn't care less about us.

Must be nice to not care.

XXX-XXX

I see her again on the second day of school, only now she's migrated to the back of the class and is pouting so hard I have to laugh. Someone made her clean up and brush out her dark hair so it gleams even in the low lighting, and she's in a pretty black and white dress - a fact she seems disgusted with as she keeps trying to yank it down to her ankles and seems cross when it won't go beyond her knees.

She looks like a very pretty girl now, and I know I'm not the only one looking at her.

Some of the other boys point and whisper about her (not that they talk to me either), commenting on her legs - which are muscled and shapely - and her hair, and how much she changed over the summer. Anya doesn't seem to notice. She never talks to anyone, and she doesn't go to lunch either. Which is weird because you'd think everyone would want to go to lunch. Even at my old school that was a big thing.

But she doesn't. She's as foreign to them as she is to me, and they don't have my excuse of being from the wrong-side of the tracks. And new. That's important too. I guess.

I see her with the blonde and the redhead after school again. She's chucking her shoes - nice girl shoes that my sister would kill for - at the woods and yelling in a different language. The londe simply tosses her over his shoulder in a flutter of skirts and shrieks while the redhead groans and goes after her shoes. The blonde dumps her into the car, waits for the redhead, and then they leave with her yelling the entire way.

I don't know whether to laugh or call the police. Can I do both?

The next day she's back in overalls, dirt, is missing part of an eyebrow, and is radiating smugness.

XXX-XXX

The fourth day she actually talks to me.

But kind of by accident.

"Well well well. Who let the farmer into the school?"

The taunt is out of nowhere, and before I can shut my locker, I'm being sent right into it. I wince when my cheek connects with the cool metal and try not to let it show how much the soon-to-be bruise pains me.I keep quiet like my dad told me to be if I got into this situation and stubbornly refuse to look away from the numbers on the dial.

There's laughter, and then I'm being turned around and snapped back into the lockers again. There's a boy, about my age but bigger, glaring a grin down at me. There are about three other boys with him, all big and muscular and way too much for me to fight, He grabs my shoulders and slams me back so hard I groan a little. "I _said_, who let you into the school you dirty -"

He doesn't see the book coming until it is whacking the side of his head with concussion-causing force.

"KURT GRANGE YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU HEAR ME?!" It's Anya Lehnsherr, and she's already fumbling into the old backpack on her hip for the next projectile. It happens to be a pair of scissors, which she hurls at the nearest boy, who dives with a startled scream. Next comes a large chemistry textbook. The other two boys are sprinting down the hallway and she wastes no time in hurtling it after them, screaming obscenities in both English and that language from two days ago.

Kurt's actually whimpering when he scampers around the hallway and out of sight.

Panting, her eyes rolling with her anger, Anya turns to me with a frown. Suddenly her whole demeanor changes. "You okay?" she asks sweetly, kindly, a hand already reaching up to my face where I know the red mark is turning purple. I feel myself nod and swallow hard, startled and wary but forever grateful to this tiny little girl who dresses like a boy and throws heavy objects like one too.

"ANYA LEHNSHERR!" The voice startles both of us, and we look down the hall to where the principal is striding towards us with the air of a bull about to charge.

"Whoops! Gotta go!" She's gone in a whirl of curls. The principal races past me but I know he won't catch her.

You can't catch angels no matter how fast you run.

XXX-XXX

I don't know how, but she doesn't get expelled. Maybe because her dad has a lot more influence than Granger's dad does, or maybe because the principal heard the truth of WHY she attacked those boys, or whatever. Anya is only suspended for a week for "excessive force."

Impressive since it was the fourth day of school.

I see her the week she comes back. She seems happy, not like she was punished at all. My dad would have had my ass for a stunt like that. Anya sees me sitting against the back wall and skips over to me with an expectant look on her face. "Why do you sit so far back?" she asks me curiously. A few curls have escaped her bun and her elfish face is sweet and guileless. I flush and stare at my desk.

"Why do you?"

"Because I dislike rich bullies." So honest. It's weird.

"Um… thanks for that… I guess." She waves a hand like it's no big deal and sits next to me, those big green eyes curious and open like a book.

"Hey they didn't have a right to pick on you because you're different." She sniffs and rolls her eyes. "I wish they _were_ different. It's like cloning around here. _Baa!_" Her imitation of sheep is so close to the mark that I actually snort a laugh. She grins like she just accomplished the most amazing thing in the world.

"I'm Jesse Winters," I finally say. She shakes my hand.

"I'm the Lehnsherr freak."

I frown. "You're not a freak."

"And you're more than a farmer. Farm boys are actually kind of hot." I splutter and she laughs. "Seriously, I know I'm not, but it doesn't hurt if it's part of who you are, you know?" She shakes her head. "Whatever. Don't let Kurt bother you. He's going to be the Quarterback who peaks in high school and never amounts to anything - beside a beer belly." I laugh again. She seems exceptionally pleased by the noise, eyes sparkling and a slow cat-like grin overtaking her face. "Hey if you don't have too many chores tomorrow do you wanna hang out?"

My mouth can't keep up with how fast I want to agree.

XXX-XXX

By week three I can't imagine having a better friend.

"Did you blow up the toaster again?"

"Nah, Sean's bong." I snort and she cackles before we're not-so-quietly shushed by the librarian on duty. Anya sighs and twirls the burnt edges of her curl around her finger. At least her eyebrows have started to grow back relatively quickly.

I've met two of her three brothers, and _seen_ her father through a window - or who I think is her dad - but I've never been to her house. I've never seen the lab where she manages to make things defy nature and combust. And I've never felt like there wasn't something she was holding back. But that's okay. I'll take it as she's willing to tell me.

"How's your sister doing? You said she was at the hospital again…"

Because I'm not being honest either.

Immediately I'm uncomfortable. Twitchy. "She's good. Getting better." Anya's eyes narrow but she just nods and accepts it like it's no big deal. Sometimes I forget that's she's twelve - she doesn't _act _like it. Granted, she's almost thirteen, but still. The way she talks, and moves, and listens… she seems way older than she actually is. It's one of those things I really like about her.

As is her inquisitiveness… and her ability to make connections.

XXX-XXX

She takes me home with her at six weeks, two weeks before she turns thirteen.

I don't know what to expect but the mansion is sure as hell not it.

"Holy crap!"

"Yeah, I know," she chuckles wryly. "Scared the bejeezus out of me two years ago too." I give her a look and she shrugs. "Adopted you goof."

"That's right now!" the redhead boy, Sean, exclaims, ruffling Anya's hair and dislodging her ponytail. She scowls and bats at his hands. "Wormed her way right in, didn't you kid?"

"Don't call me kid!"

"Anya darling?" a voice calls from the nearby doorway. I look up and see a dark-haired man with bright blue eyes leaning out of a window, arms crossed over the sill and a slight smile on his lips. He's good-looking I guess, very relaxed, and very open. Actually come to think of it, that's the expression I associate most with Anya. Anya promptly skips over to him, bouncing in place like an overexcited kid on Christmas. Sean and I exchange a look and start laughing a little.

"Hi Charles! I didn't get into trouble today!" Charles laughs with us.

"Apparently not." He looks amused, but also like he's waiting for something. He presses two fingers to his temple and rubs. Curious about the gesture, I look to Anya, but she's got her face scrunched up like when she's trying to figure out a hard question in geometry.

Finally she smiles and lurches out to grab my hand. "Come on!"

"Where are we -"

"I'm going to introduce you to my brother!"

"You mean Hank?" I'd heard about him but I'd never seen him before. Anya might be nodding but she has this tendency to bound when she sprints, so I can't tell if that's her running or her trying to say yes. Honestly she's so excitable - back to the kid on Christmas analogy. I grin and let her tug me through the front door and down the hallway, passing doors right and left.

We skid to a halt in front of a steel door. She pauses and looks at me then with a soft smile, unlike anything I've seen on her face before. "Just… keep an open mind, yeah?"

With that she shoves open the door and drags me inside.

He's tall, about six feet, with blue fur. Blue. Fur. And glasses. And a snout. I feel my mouth drop open, but not to scream. Never to scream. The man looks up at me in shock, seconds before horror spills across his face and he makes a choking noise. The vial he's holding slips through his fingers and red fluid splashes across the floor, stark against the white tiles. He's trying to block his face but Anya has grabbed one of his arms and buried her face in his fur, clinging almost desperately. They tussle as he tries to hide but she won't let go. A few times he picks her right up off the floor… but he never hurts her. Not even accidentally.

"No no no, Hank, it's okay -"

"Sweetie how could -"

"How did you know?" I ask through numb lips. They stop and look at me, Hank with confusion and Anya with that gentle smile.

"Easy." But that's all she says.

All she'll ever say.

XXX-XXX

The next day I take her home with me. But not into my house. I coax Anya around to the barn and gesture for her to go in ahead of me. She does, staring wide-eyed around like she's waiting for… something. Which she is. But it's more than that.

It's like she can't _wait_ to see what I want to show her.

"Max? Maxine? C'mon out sweetie," I call to my little sister. I can feel eyes on me even though I can't see her. No surprise that. "It's okay. Ahn is a friend, she won't hurt you. I promise. She won't take you away, or anything. She lives with somebody like you -"

"A bunch of somebodies like you!" Anya chips in, peering behind a bunch of hay bales. I gesture for her to be quiet.

"She's a good person I promise. She may seem loud, and obnoxious, and rude -"

"Oi!"

"But she has a good heart. Maxie? Can you please come out?" I beg. Anya sucks in a breath and I whirl to see her sitting back on her heels, green eyes wide. She smiles brightly and beckons a seeming shadow closer.

"Hey there pretty girl," she says gently. "You… are… so beautiful."

My little sister steps shyly out of the shadows and I hold my breath, still expecting for Anya, even with who she live with, to scream and shout freak. But she doesn't. She holds out her arms and smiles widely, eager eyes raking over Maxine like she's a precious treasure.

It steals my breath and makes my heart pound.

Max has big liquid eyes of pure black, not covering the irises but pretty close. Her hair is the same colour, and moves like she's trapped underwater most of the time. Twin horns, still baby horns even though they will curl into long dark spikes later, peek out of her long black hair. Her skin is pale as a diamond and just as clear, showing a network of black veins beneath the translucent surface. Blue lips that she tries to cover with lipstick, even at ten years old, curve a little at the corners as Anya simply holds out her arms like she wants to hug her. Cautiously Maxine steps out from the shadows, revealing bat-like wings stretching a good four feet behind her. Leathery and thick, they unfold just enough that clawed tips are visible. A bushy tail curls around her feet, twitching anxiously as she waits for approval. For acceptance.

"Hello beautiful." Anya has the most radiant smile on her face. And Maxine honestly begins to cry as she lurches forward into Anya's arms to be swept up into the biggest and warmest embrace from anyone who isn't part of the immediate family since she became like this when she was nine.

I can't tell now, but I think… I think this is when I fall in love with Anya Lehnsherr.

* * *

**Cute... But if you guys know my other works... then you know it will NOT be that simple! Like, don't like? Let me know! And I am so sorry again!**


	6. Chapter Five: To Accept

**As promised, the next update! I'm going to be writing a little bit in the next few weeks, but not a lot since I REALLY DO need to study (midterms, groan). **

**Also, they do not lie when they say pre-med kicks ass. Yikes.**

**So... Anyway... This is when we start sort of seeing how Anya is not altogether mutant. And that her life is WAY more complicated than human/mutant/I-hate-my-dad. Wellll... Maybe. There were a few questions about puppy love and such, but honestly... Cute as that would be... And while I don't want to spoil anything... No.**

**Alright, so, with the fluffy-ness out of the way, back to heaping way too much on a kid! (I'm evil, I know it!)**

* * *

**Chapter Five: To Accept (December, 1965)**

There's blood all over me. In my nose, my eyes, my hair and my clothes. It drips and slithers and creeps warmly down my back, sticky fingers dragging over my skin like a sugary kiss. The cold bites at the liquid and makes me shiver - or maybe it's Jesse, shaking with more than just the snow swirling around us and the thin t-shirts we're wearing. My eye has completely swollen shut so I can barely see and my nose is steadily dripping blood down my already drenched shirt.

The problem is most of the blood isn't mine.

"Oh… _God…_ Anya…" Jesse is gasping and desperately clutching at his face beside me. Tears of scarlet are running down his cheeks, and his hands are weeping from the gashes across his palms. I grit my teeth at the pain, both physical and emotional, bite back the panic the sight of blood causes and hitch his arm higher around my scrawny shoulders.

"We're almost there!" I tell him, plead with him. "C'mon Jesse don't you fucking give up on me now!" I cringe as the word slips out.

My dad would be _so pissed_ if he heard me talk like that.

Together we stumble through the woods, hiking as best we can in secret back to my home. We've had to bypass a lot of the roads and habitable areas in favor of shadows and hiding because if anyone saw us we'd be in real trouble. I sigh internally. I'm definitely going to have to switch schools now, after that fight. Kurt Grange is lucky if he doesn't scar from the way I clawed at his face… Guess biting my nails does have its benefits.

Actually, Kurt is lucky I didn't kill him.

What hurts worse than my pain, my trauma, and hell, even _Jesse's _pain are those damn words Kurt had the whole school screaming at us, even with a chunk of his cheek missing and his lip split from my punches.

_Monster. Freak. Devil. _Mutant. I scowl darkly as the words circle in my head.

I'm fourteen and have lived through some of the worst. Yet wonderful, amazing, _selfless_ people… They cared. They didn't know me, didn't know anything except my biological father is a murderous maniac, yet they took me in anyway. Helped banish my nightmares. Gave me a home. Gave me a _family._ Yet Kurt and those assholes at school… If they knew about my family they would run them out of town. Call them freaks. Say they are _monsters._ Sean and Alex and Hank and Dad run through my head over and over, their faces and laughter and soothing words and concerned anger when I'm being stupid. Their acceptance.

How can they be monsters, just because they're different? So _what_? Okay, so Dad can read minds - but I think he's actually hurt fewer people than I have with my words and my fists, and he's a _lot_ older than me. And yeah, Hank looks like a scary blue bear… But the guy's a freaking Teddy Bear! And Sean can blow my head up with a hiccup, but he's a goof and he still gets sick if you mention killing. And Alex… Alex is Alex. Fiery tempered and quick to become hostile but distraught if you mention him hurting _anyone_. It eats him up inside how he is unable to completely control his power.

It's not fair that because I don't have lasers or scales or fur or power of water or _whatever_ that I am considered normal. Not a freak.

Jesse screams and collapses onto the ground, dragging me down with him as he goes. My head bounces off the icy ground hard and for a second I blink to make the spots in front of my eyes disappear. The pain hasn't caught up with me yet which I can't tell if that's a good thing or not. With a groan I sit up and curse the way the world sways. "C'mon!" I groan, trying to haul my best friend - who I suddenly very much hate for being close to five foot eight while I'm still at stupid five foot - off the ground and not trip over his long legs. Jesse cries out and pulls me back down so I sprawl over him. "Jess…" I prop myself up, ready to urge him to stand again, to get moving so my dad can help, but I freeze when I see his hand, palm up, on the ground.

I can't help but stare at the bright blue eye blinking blearily from the lines of his hand, peering out through the bloody ruin of his appendage.

I swallow hard to hide my nausea and stagger to my feet. I almost lose it though when Jesse turns his face to me and I see why he's been crying blood. His eyes are useless, dead white like a corpse's, and slowly leaking the rest of what made them _work_ out onto his cheeks. "What's... Anya what… make it…" He's been babbling for an hour now as we struggled to get back, every since chemistry when he suddenly dropped to the floor screaming. Earlier he had felt sick, and before that… I want to laugh now that I know but I don't quite know _why_. Maybe I'm hysterical.

_It's nothing, my hands just itch._

Two cuts, one on each of his hands, that itched.

And now a blue eye on one hand.

I wonder if I'll find its twin on his other hand.

Deciding to not deal with that until I have to, I determinedly push the thought away and focus on getting Jesse back to my house. The trees are beginning to clear. Thank _God_ Sean used to play hide and seek with me when I was younger; I know these woods, even dark and snowy, like the back of my hand.

We're going to make it.

Jesse groans, pushing at me like he wants me to leave him alone, but I cling to his arm firmly. "Almost there," I say through numb lips. He continues to push and I whack his offending hands out of the way. But that lets him slip through my other hand, spinning around to face me. Jesse starts to pull away and I desperately hang on. "No Jess -!"

And suddenly his other bloody palm is in my face. And there's another eye, but it's brown, a rich dark brown, like melted chocolate. I freeze even though I'm not conscious that I do, and I feel him glide through my shaking fingers. I stare at the eye, feel myself falling… falling…

"Papa!"

"No Anya it's dangerous - "

"I'll tell you later leibling -"

A woman with my hair -

A man with my eyes -

Smoke in my lungs -

"PAPA!"

"NO!"

"YOU BASTARD!"

"Magda please -"

Dirt in my nose and my mouth and -

"She's alive?!"

"- only one -"

Mutti and Vatti and blood -

Bad men with black eyes -

"I was shot -"

A beach -

"You'll pay for this -"

"No Erik -"

Sean killing a man with a scream -

Moira -

Charles hugging me after a nightmare -

Then everything stops. Rewinds. And I'm standing in a little hotel room, beating on a window and screaming as flames roar behind me and smoke fills my lungs and I can't _breathe_ and oh God why do I hurt please make it stop oh God oh God oh God I feel sleepy no no no no I can't sleep there's a fire and I'll die if I do Papa where's my papa he's yelling there's so much yelling is he trying to save me can he there's so much fire oh God I'm going to die why is everything turning blllaaaaaccccckkkkkk…?

XXX-XXX

When I come to the first thing I'm aware of is being too hot. _Way_ too hot. I kick out and lash with my hands until the extra heat falls away and I am left gasping in big breaths of cool air. That's better. My skin is all sweaty and I feel like I was just choked.

A cold hand lands on my brow and I flinch at the change in temperature. "Darling, darling calm." I feel that familiar pressure on my brain and sigh in contentment, rolling my head to look at my dad.

"Dad?" I croak out. Charles blinks at the moniker but I'm too groggy to know why. "Wha' happened?"

Charles grimaces and runs his fingers through my tangled curls. He comes to one that is very obviously burned to a crisp at the end and sighs with regret. _I really should hack them off... Before I lose my head..._ Charles smiles a little at the thought but there are traces of tears in his azure eyes. I wince when I see them.

Those usually only appear when Erik/Magneto/The-Giant-Wanker-Who-Broke-My-Dad's-Heart-Then-Shot-JFK is ever brought up. I must have been pretty damn close.

"Yes you were," he says, in this much smaller voice that makes me reach out for him. He doesn't hesitate to pull me bodily off of my bed and partway onto his lap. My head throbs so I put it on his shoulder, throwing my legs over the side of his wheelchair. I put my arms around his neck and just sort of hold them there, loosely wrapped like a scarf of flesh (ew) around his neck. Charles however clutches me to him so hard my ribs creak a little bit. It doesn't really hurt so I don't tell him to stop. "Next time, call?" His voice is muffled but clear enough I understand what he's saying at least. "I don't care where you are, get to a safe place and _stay there _until we can get you!" I chuckle a little and squeeze him back, burying my face into his neck and shoulder. It reminds me of when I was little, and I was scared after a nightmare, and I would cling so tightly to him or Alex or both that their faces would turn red from lack of oxygen. But they never stopped me, just held on too, like I was worth it. Like I deserved to have them there.

"I'm grounded aren't I?"

"Until you leave this house for college you are young lady." I smirk a little and shift until I'm comfortable. That means I'm going to be banned from the lab for two days and then my brothers will sneak me in.

I'm spoiled and I know it.

Charles drops one arm from around my back to the wheel of his chair and tugs, spinning us around. I cling to his neck even though he has to let me go to move us out the door. With my legs over the arm and his hands manipulating the chair, we slowly wheel out of the room and down the hall. I chance a glance at his face and wince when I see the frustration he's actually pretty good at hiding. I know he wants to hug me right now; I know he's worried about me and his lack of mobility is making a bad situation worse. I know he thinks _I_ think he's weak because of this.

But how can I tell him that he's one of the strongest people I know? That I don't care? I think it so loud and hard sometimes I give myself a headache… but he still doesn't accept it as true.

Why?

My musings are broken by the sound of three sets of feet. My brothers all comically fall into the hallway in a pile of limbs and fur and shrieks of outrage. I giggle a little and they all snap their heads up simultaneously. My dad hides a smile at their antics and I giggle some more. Then, as one, they scream, "ANYA!" Suddenly I'm engulfed, everyone trying to hug me all at once. Arms pull me off of Charles lap and I dangle in the air as furry and muscular and thin arms all take turns embracing me so hard I can't breathe, lifting me straight off of my feet in their exuberance. I squeal and kick as hard as I can, partly as an act and partly because _holy crap this is way too hot right now!_ Charles must say something because the brother holding me - Sean - puts me down with a sheepish smile.

"Jesus, Kid, don't scare us like that!" he tells me, ruffling my curls so they spill into my face.

"Sweetie that was too big of a risk," Hank cautions, anxiously running his claws through the blue fur sticking up wildly off of his head.

"Squirt, you ever do that again, and you will be _beyond_ dead, do you understand me?" Alex says in a low voice, angry with the profound relief that he isn't doing such a good job of hiding.

I hide my grin. My brothers - a study of contrasts. I meet my dad's eye and he winks. I giggle a little and nod to hopefully appease them just a little. They engulf me again in a group hug and I squirm around until I can reach Charles too, having him take my hand in his firm yet soft grip, before relaxing. How did I end up in this family where no one fits their physical appearance and no one is even remotely the same as the next? How did I end up being raised by people who were so loving and caring and accepting?

What did I do to deserve these people?

"Jesse would like to see you, Darling," Charles tells me softly. He squeezes my hand and my mind promptly flashes back to the best friend who couldn't even tell that I was helping him in the woods. All three of my brothers stiffen into marble statues around me. I ignore them, elbowing out of the arms that try to restrain me and kneeling in front of my dad.

"Is he okay? What's his power? Is he really blind? Is he aware now? How's his head -"

"Like hell you're going by that asshole -"

"How about you ask him?" Charles says kindly, shooting a glare over my shoulder at the brothers who are clamoring over me and getting ready to tear a chunk out of the boy who accidentally hurt me (and probably me for even thinking about getting near him). "He's awake and would like to talk to you." I know how hard that must be for my dad - my brothers got their protective streak from _somewhere_ after all. Even if we're not related by blood, we all are becoming more and more like the father-figure bringing us up. Hell, we're even starting to _look_ like him, adopting our expressions to match his without conscious thought, so even people who don't know us immediately mistake us for being blood related. But he's letting me go anyway. Probably because he understands how dangerous a newly recognized mutation is.

I kiss his cheek as I sprint past him down to the infirmary. Already raised voices call out behind me, telling _me_ to stop though Charles determinedly tells _them_ to stop. I ignore all of them.

Jesse is sitting up in bed when I get to the lab/infirmary, gloomily staring down at his open hands. I knock on the door and his head jerks up, eyes that were once alive and dark brown now milky white and dead. I swallow thickly and will the tears that try to fall back. "Hey dude, how you feeling?" I ask lamely, walking into the room slowly. I'm not well; that sprint took what little energy I had, and the result is I'm walking slower now, and banging into everything in sight. Something in Jesse's face tightens when he hears the noise.

"Like I just tried to kill my best friend," he deadpans. I wince and gingerly sit on the edge of the bed. He curls his fingers to hide the eyes, but I still see them blinking lazily at me. One blue and one brown. One for the past, and (I'd put money on it) one for the future.

They're strangely beautiful, if a little scary.

"It was an accident," I say gently, reaching out to take his hand. He rears back as if I struck him.

"An accident? Ahn, I trapped you in a piece of your past! I almost _killed_ you - your heart stopped and _everything!_" There are tears in his dead eyes. "We don't know how you survived. You shouldn't have. The Professor says much longer…"

"But you stopped, yeah?" I interrupt the self-loathing with what I hope is a soothing tone. "You realized what you were doing and let me go. I don't even remember what you showed me to be honest." I pretend I don't see him trying to hide his hands and snag one, uncurling his fingers to inspect the eye. It's the brown one, the one that ripped through my mind and showed me a memory that I don't remember once again. It blinks at me and widens from the palm of his hand, raking over my features. I smile and listen as Jesse sucks in a harsh breath. "This is actually kind of cool. Look at how the white blends seamlessly into your palm… If I poked it would it hurt?"

Hey, I'm a scientist, give me a break.

Jesse shrugs mutely. I can feel sightless eyes unnervingly finding my face and I blush a deep scarlet. Even blind he sees me. It's both creepy and comforting. I drop his hand and grasp his other one. This time he doesn't fight me, laying his fingers out so I can look at the other eye. Fascinated, I watch how this one seems more aware than the other, promptly fixing on my face and not blinking. I smile at it too and wave a little, feeling a little sardonic to be honest.

"You know I can see you, right?" Jesse says abruptly. My smile freezes and my eyes widen as I look at his face. Glassy white orbs look at me but don't _see_. A little smile tugs at his full mouth and he curls his fingers a little. "Not here, Ahn. Down there." I look back down at his hand in shock. The blue eye winks - or is it blinks? - at me.

"Uh….

"You're beautiful." There's something awed about his voice, like he sees something through that eye he has never seen before. It's scary to be honest.

I promptly turn bright red and stutter. He smiles again, a touch melancholy.

"I mean it Ahn. Maybe not right this second, but soon… You're going to be walking down the staircase in the foyer in… a dress of pale blue silk and sheer lace… with your shining red hair pinned up… And a smile…" He blinks both sets of eyes and grins sheepishly. "Sorry. But you do. Or will. I think it's in a few years to be honest - you don't look that much older."

Guess I know which eye that one is.

I feel my grin spread over my cheeks. "That… is so… _cool_! Okay, maybe not _accurate_ because me in a dress, nuh-uh… But still… You can sorta see the future!" As soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret them, watching as Jesse's smile becomes a scowl and he curls his fingers into fists.

"It's wrong is what it is," he says harshly. I scowl right back at him.

"Oh don't give me that bullshit!" I snap. His expression darkens.

"I could have killed you."

"I'm _fine_."

"How can you accept a monster? A mutant?" he spits out. My temper snaps and I shove him hard, his head falling back into the pillows. My mouth runs ahead of my brain and I'm aware I'm going to regret saying what I am only just now choosing to accept about myself, but am in no way ready to advertise to anyone else.

"How can you accept a _human_?" I demand with all the anger and frustration this divide has caused between our races.

* * *

**I like how she's like this perfect mix of Charles and Erik. Not what I originally intended but I will take it!**

**Like? Don't like? Let me know! And I will write to you guys later!**


	7. Chapter Six: To Listen

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the support I keep getting for this story, it means a lot to me when I check my phone after two solid hours of bio studying and see that I have all these lovely reviews from you guys! I am not done with midterms or exams (seriously, as soon as I'm done with one I have two more) but I will try to write more often when I'm not super busy.**

**Okay, so this is kind of short... Which I know sucks a little because I made you guys wait for it for over two weeks, but it's pretty much a precursor chapter to the next story. After this it's not going to jump from year to year to year, it's going to be a solid block of chapters for the next few years... Just one more year to go and then... well, read and see. ;) Thanks to mpathy, who totally gave me inspiration to write this chapter from Sean's point of view! **

**I love you guys! Please, keep reviewing!**

**P.S. - sorry for all the swearing, but frankly, I don't blame Sean and I think it's in character just because of what is going to happen/what the boys are talking about. Please don't ask me to change the rating, it's only this _one_ chapter. **

* * *

**Chapter Six: To Listen (July 1966)**

"No fucking way."

My eyes are practically bulging out of my head and my breath feels like it's pummeling my chest, but Alex and Hank are just nodding - like this is a good idea, like this is _sane_. Which it's not. Totally not. I made a comment, _that's all_, about if Magneto wasn't in the equation the reason that Anya is currently in trouble - with _the Prof of all people _- wouldn't be happening. But they agreed. Which they shouldn't have. They don't usually.

Why did they have to choose _right fucking then_ to listen to me for once?!

"It makes sense. No Erik causing a war between mutants and humans, no war," Hank reasons - _and oh god the fact that _Hank_ is applying _reason_ to a stupid thing _I_ said is way too fucking scary!_

"Like hell this is gonna work!" I yelp, but they aren't listening to me again. Why is it when I am being _sensible_ they couldn't give a yellow rubbery fuck but when I'm talking complete _shit_ then they listen?!

"Pentagon's going to be tightly controlled," Alex muses, looking out the window to where our sister is chasing Jesse and Maxine around the yard (well, trying to - she all of a sudden hit a massive growth spurt and is tripping over four inches of extended legs more than she is running. And let's face it no one can really chase twelve-year-old Maxine). Hank just waves a furry paw dismissively.

"Security codes are easy. Getting him out is going to be way harder."

"And what the hell are we going to do when he actually is _out?_" I demand. Since my stupid comment set them off they don't seem to be paying attention to anything but their own deranged brains. Alex just rolls his eyes.

"I can blast the building to pieces in a heartbeat. If you can fix my suit then I can control it enough to not kill anyone." Hank is nodding and talking about what he needs to fix the suit while I just shake my head and mutter obscenities.

Dude, what the actual hell?

I can't take much more of this, though I know pretty soon they're going to be chasing me down and forcing me to help with this shit-brained idea. _Break_ Magneto out of the fucking _Pentagon_ and introduce him to his daughter? Uh, no. Besides the fact that _no, bad idea_, there's the whopper of a _guess what there's a ninety percent chance that your daughter is human but we want to wait until she's had her period (and I can't believe I even thought that ew that's just nasty even if she wasn't my sister) before we start running multiple tests to confirm it but we need you to meet her anyway so that you don't start a war she is determined to fight in._

Yeah, the xenophobe isn't going to like that. At. All. Provided he doesn't just kill her when he meets her, what's to stop him from taking over the world anyway once we set him loose? Or starting the war that Anya is already begging the Prof to let her train for? We'd be right back at square one. And then we'd _really_ be majorly fucked because _Magneto would be out_.

I look out the window and sigh. Anya is laughing as she tumbles into Jesse and knocks them both over. She looks so… _happy_. They all do. But at fourteen the kid's not stupid; she already had to drag her best friend out of her old school to protect him from humans like her (physically if not mentally) while he was going through his transformation, and she knows she can't let Maxine go anywhere without heavy makeup and a coat to hide her tail and wings. It's not fair but more importantly, it's causing massive panic. People who are even a little bit different are being shot down and told how wrong they are. How they are going to hell. How they are freaks and morons and killers. Maxine cries when she hears the comments; Jesse clenches his jaw and tries to pretend the words don't bother him; and Anya…

Anya knows where a fight is. And damn it if she isn't like her dad, because holy shit she is almost _salivating _for it.

I shake my head. She's Erik's kid alright.

But this is still a stupid idea, because his kid or not, who even believes he's going to _accept _that she's his daughter when he hears she's not a mutant? Not _homosuperior?_ Actually, who even thinks _Anya_ will want to have anything to do with him? She makes a face whenever anyone asks her who her "real dad" is and mutters angrily whenever "Erik" is mentioned in passing.

This is all kinds of wrong.

But are they listening to me anymore? Nooooo!

I grimace and rub a hand over my face. This…. God there's no way out of this is there? War is coming. It hit Vietnam already, and more and more men are shipped across the ocean to die. Any day now Alex and I could get our own letters from Uncle Sam, calling us up. What then? Hank won't be called, that's for sure. And certainly not the Prof. But Alex and I could be. Jesse too for that matter in a few years. He's gotten pretty good at subtly watching the world through his hands, so much so if he wears dark glasses you don't know he's blind. I have no doubts about my little sister being stupid enough to try to get embroiled in the thick of war if we were to go. Maybe not for me (and boy does _that_ sting to admit) but the second Alex is called, she'll be shaving off her hair and pulling a pack over her shoulders, kid or no.

Which, come to think of it, she's really not.

If war doesn't come to this house, this _home_, in the form of a letter from the Department of Defense, then it will come in a full out mutant versus human battle. But I'm not sure taking Erik out of the equation - whatever _that_ means - would help. One day humans just aren't going to tolerate us… And either that will lead to our acceptance…

Or...

I shudder and push the thought from my mind. I need a joint. Thinking like this is only going to drag me into a funk. I slouch my shoulders and hope that the not-so-kids aren't going to need the goof right now because I need time to mellow all this shit clamoring in my head out.

_I can't do this._

His voice is so clear I almost turn around to see if he's behind me, muttering to himself like he does - like he's caused Hank and Anya to start doing - when he's working through a particular problem. But he's not. There's no chair, no warm smile and sad blue eyes, no fatherly figure, just a voice lingering in my mind that shouldn't be there. I frown and start heading towards the study, a sinking feeling in my gut. The closer I get to the Professor's study the more I can feel the anger and pain, like wading out into deep water with the uneasy sensation that at any moment and underwater current will sweep your feet out from beneath you and you'll be lost beneath the waves.

God I hope that doesn't happen.

The door isn't open, which is weird enough. I don't ever think I've seen the door _closed_ before. Well…. except... when Erik lived here… Nope, not going to think of _why,_ thank you very much, that is my parental person, do not ask me, I don't want to know.

Again, the soothing voice of my professor trips across my mind, broken and so full of grief and rage I wince. _You need to be here. I can't… I can't _do_ this. _I wonder if I could possibly open the door without him seeing me. Steeling myself, I try anyway. What I see makes my breath catch and my heart hurt. Charles is slumped sideways, his head in his hands. I don't know, and I wouldn't bet on it, but… But I think he's…

No, no way the Professor is crying…

Right?

He's not done yet, and I see his hands reflexively grip the sides of the wheelchair in a white-knuckle grip. For a wild second I think he's going to stand and start pacing. But he suddenly lets go and tips back _She wants to fight in a war, Erik. _You're_ war. She's already decided. She thinks she _has_ to fight, to _choose_ between… Erik… You need to be here. You need to _stop_ her. I cannot see my daughter go into a battle any more than I can see my sons go. Do _not_ make me._ He rubs a hand furiously over his face and wheels to his desk. _Please. My children… I cannot… Not… They've already been through so much… Erik, why did you leave me? Why are you making me suffer through this alone? Why?_

His face… God I don't think I've ever seen such pain on a person's face. Or seen how quickly pain turns to rage. Rage that looks entirely out of place on Charles' - good, kind Charles who held my baby sister when she had a nightmare, patched me up when I crashed into a wall while flying, showed Alex he is more than a weapon, who lets Hank know that just because he is different doesn't mean he's _wrong_ - expressive face. His hand shoots out and grabs the nearest bookend and, with surprising strength, hurtles it at the nearest wall. I flinch as wood dents and splinters, raining down on the expensive carpet.

_**WHY?!**_

It's an explosion of emotion more than of words, an outcry of rage, passion barely kept under wraps by his level-headedness and the thought of us. I swallow hard and brush at my cheeks - _and no_, I am _not_ crying for my father figure, I had lint on my face and it was irritating. I close the door as silently as I can and walk down the hallway. The farther I am from the study the less of his telepathy clings to me, until I'm at the end of the hall and it's not even a faint tickle along the edges of my consciousness. I know I was the only one that heard that.

And now I wonder if I was the only one who no one ever listens to.

XXX-XXX

It's dinner later, and if you don't know us, you'd think nothing was wrong. We're all seated around the table. The second we sit down though we know something's wrong. Anya is sitting as far from Charles as she can, and stubbornly refuses to look at him or to make much conversation beyond polite and cool responses. Jesse is her buffer - I exchange an eye-roll with Alex as the besotted kid immediately puts himself between the two of them, taking sides - and a confused Maxine sits on Anya's other side, glancing around the table with a frown quirking her blue lips. Then she shrugs and sits like nothing is wrong with the tense silence between the Prof and his kid.

Erik's temper with Charles' following. I wouldn't be surprised if Anya made her own bid for world dominance… and won. Kind of a scary thought.

Alex ends up sitting on Max's left, with Hank next to him, and me beside the Prof. He looks pained, shooting glances at his non-biological-but-still-his daughter with a frown. The kids have started to laugh and jeer at each other, but it's a farce. I know it is. Anya's laughing just a little _too_ hard; Jesse is squinting a little and his hands keep flexing, the eyes on his palms (which is still creepy after seven months of seeing them) blinking at us and probably seeing everything; and Maxine frankly looks like she doesn't have a damn clue what's going on but is desperate for the older kids to include her on the secret.

Alex is also silent, which speaks volumes of how bad this is.

"Anya, can you please not play with the blood samples anymore? I need them for further tests." Hank sounds weary. Anya scowls a little.

"I was determining if the plans from that acidic compound you were trying to duplicate would actually break down the hemoglobin in red blood cells and result in suffocation. Those were the only samples of blood in the lab!" She's turning fifteen in three months and is already smarter than I am. Figures.

"And did it?" Hank sighs, looking weary as always but faintly amused as well. She stabs a fork into a meatball and her cheeks heat with a blush that makes us all exchange smirks. Even the Prof.

"No, it caused a black compound to erupt, then dissolve again and spoiled the sample. The blood was completely wrecked - the cells became completely crenated." Hank pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth, spaghetti hanging off of the end precariously. "Whose blood was that anyway?"

He swallows nervously and I swear I see Jesse smirk. Anya turns confused eyes from Hank to Jesse and back again. Charles sharp blue eyes cut across the table at Hank, narrowed slightly. "Well?" Anya demands.

"Um… I need to…" Hank drops his fork and streaks from the table, presumably to go to the lab. Charles watches him go with a frown on his lips. Anya looks bewildered, and Jesse is not-so-silently laughing at us. Seriously, the know-it-all attitude gets fucking annoying sometimes.

"Anya, what did you mess up now?" Alex asks in exasperation. Anya throws her hands up in a show of innocence.

"Nothing! He left the plans and blood out, and I was curious!"

"Is that so?" Jesse murmurs, a gleam I don't care for in his white eyes. The Prof frowns at him. Anya looks confused.

"Jess what did you do?" Maxine asks from around Anya, eyes narrowed. He just widens his sightless eyes and takes a sip of water. The winged mutant bristles, her sharp little horns seeming to vibrate on her head. "Jesse Winters, so help me if this is just you trying to make one of your damn visions happen again -"

"Maxine, language," Charles chides gently. Maxine promptly colors and looks down at her plate. Anya smacks her best friend's shoulder, and he pretends to wince and whine until he draws a smile out of her. Alex grumbles under his breath and looks none too pleased at the way Anya is blushing and _not quite_ meeting Jesse's eyes. He doesn't like the thought of his baby sister having a crush.

I don't either but I'm not going to panic until she actually dates. And can… y'know… do stuff. (Ew ew ew ew ew ew ewwwwwww where's the bleach?!)

"Darling, please be more careful of Hank's projects. I understand he needed that blood for something important." Anya is still angry from their argument earlier. She juts out her chin and doesn't meet his eyes.

"Well, whose was it then?"

"I don't know. He asked me not to look, so I didn't," Charles says quietly. Anya huffs and gets up from the table. She doesn't seem to hear that Charles is hurt, or that he is trying so hard right now. She doesn't hear that he is angry and not with her.

She just walks away. Like someone else did on a beach in Cuba four years ago this October.

Poor Charles looks stricken as she does. Jesse glances at the older man in sympathy before hurrying after his best friend. And right then I make up my mind.

I sigh.

Damn it, the one time I wish they wouldn't listen to me… Now I'm going to break Mag-fucking-neto out of prison and introduce him to his volatile teenage human daughter.

Jesus Christ I hope the Prof has enough alcohol to keep us tanked for - I glance at Anya's retreating back and the Prof's face and think of Erik's stubborn anger - years.

Definitely years. We're going to need it.

* * *

**Yeah! Erik soon! Originally I was going to have Anya older... but she's going to be sixteen next chapter. Guess that's old enough. (My baby's all grown up! *sniffle*) Like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	8. Chapter Seven: Anything You Want

**Hello all! This update is less than a week - you proud of me? ;) Thank you to my faithful reviewers, I love you guys! Real quick, this is going to be part of a three-chapter set of the same day/night from three different points of view. Well, technically two days, because the whole thing stops at like five in the morning of October 28, so... yeah. Can't say anything else, I will spoil it!**

**On that note, I have a favor to ask. I got a review asking if this was, indeed, a Cherik story. It is, and I'm sorry if that wasn't clear, but... Considering it is Cherik... please do not send me any nasty reviews. I can take criticism, I might get pissed if you're rude about it, but I can take it. But I will not tolerate any extremely homophobic reviews. Your opinions are your own... but do NOT post anything hateful on MY story. I will report you, and I don't want to do that, but frankly, I don't want to hear that either. This is a work of fiction, and is meant for enjoyment, not for bigotry. If you do not like Cherik, don't read. Don't leave me reviews, don't PM me, just stop reading. I haven't gotten anything like that - it was a genuine question, and I'm sorry that I didn't state before now that it's a Cherik story - but please, do not send me anything like that.**

**That was a little... forceful, wasn't it? I'm sorry. Anyhoo, nice sweet chapter... with a much better cliffhanger for the sweetie who liked the last one! ;) Please enjoy and review!**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Anything You Want (October 27, 1967)**

Anya looks so cute when she sleeps. Quite adorable in fact. Over the past year she has become even less of a girl and more of a woman. A continuing growth spurt, one that has only just barely stopped, left her with striation bruises and growing pains, but an enviable height at five-foot-ten. Taller than me, even if I could stand, I'm afraid. The sharp angles she inherited from Erik no longer look out of place on her; less mysterious and elfin and more regal. The freckles seemed to only grow, a dusting across her face and body clashing with her silvery skin, reminding me every day of the eleven-year-old girl with the wild red curls and the trembling peach lips I met in a Florida hospital. Her lower lip became fuller, plumper, softening the harsh edge of her jaw. While not particularly… curvaceous… she has a willowy body with tight, sinewy muscles that more than once I've caught young men at her third high school gawking at. A ballerina's body (though truthfully her not-so-secret runs and sparring sessions with Jesse are what gave them to her). Her hair darkened over the past five years to become a thick auburn, which can be set aflame int a scarlet as red as blood in the sun. Usually she is quick with a retort, a sly grin on her peachy lips and a spark in her cat-like green eyes. But when she's asleep she looks young. Sweet. More like the young woman I know who still has nightmares occasionally and will stay up into the early morning hours just to talk with me. Everything, nothing, the war in Vietnam, the possible mutant-human war, her brothers, her lack of mutation (which Hank confirmed three months ago, although he still gets quite twitchy when he mentions the tests. I wonder why but I don't pry)... Erik's daughter, _my_ daughter, has become a beautiful woman with an even brighter, more precious mind.

And today my little girl turns sixteen.

I gently brush the curls away from her face, smiling when her long lashes flutter against the sharp angle of her cheeks before she subsides, tilting her head into my hand. The book still loosely held between her fingers tumbles to the side, catching on the edge of the couch before falling to the ground in a disarray of pages. She breathes deeply and evenly, each slow breath measured. If I didn't know better I would believe she was faking sleep. But no, Anya doesn't quite cuddle the couch cushions when faking the way she does when she truly is asleep - she doesn't seem to realize how borderline aggressive she is in her effort to burrow into the warmth of the leather. Loathe as I am to wake her, she has a long day ahead of her.

"Darling wake up," I murmur. She lets out a loud groan and curls in tighter to herself, away from me. My smile widens and I move my hand to her shoulder, shaking lightly. "Darling," I croone.

"Mm-mm," she mumbles into the leather. I chuckle and tap her shoulder twice.

"Come on darling, it's time to get up." She was awake the second I spoke, but she resolutely clings to the last vestiges of sleep with a playful stubbornness. She flaps a hand at me before pillowing her cheek against her arm. Her eyes are stilled closed but a smile tilts her mouth into a bow.

"Sh! I'm sleeping," she grouches. I laugh and drop my hands back to my wheelchair, feeling my cheeks pull with my smile. I wheel slightly away from her, but she still doesn't move.

"Darling," I admonish. Anya rolls over and, without opening her green eyes, sticks her tongue out at me. I roll my eyes and she cracks one eye open, her lips parting over startlingly white teeth in a grin that's both cocky and sheepish.

_Morning Daddy,_ she thinks, stretching, her back bowing and her arms above her head. Her hair is a rumpled mess of curls and there are lines along the side of her face from where she slept on the seams of the couch. And she still is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. _What's wrong? _she thinks, widening those large green eyes and ruffling a hand through her hair.

"You can't tell me you've forgotten _again_?" I demand in mock outrage. Well, partially mock. Not that I am angry with her, but every year it seems like Anya deliberately puts this day out of her mind. Anya looks confused - this year is no different. I sigh. "Darling, it's your birthday."

"Oh." She pouts a little bit and flops back onto the sofa. "You're not going to try and make me have a party again are you?"

I very carefully keep my face blank. Her fourteenth birthday I tried to… instigate a few friendships by throwing a surprise party. The evening had ended with an exploding cake that had taken days to clean off of the ceiling and counters and several very unhappy high schoolers, though a very exuberant "cake fight" between my children.

"Ah, no, not this year," I say honestly. Anya sighs and rolls to her feet, towering over me. She crosses her arms over her chest and smiles gently.

"So what have my brothers gotten up to this year?" she asks me lightly. I shrug and she quirks a brow. "Dad…"

"If I knew, darling… alright I wouldn't tell you, but I do not know what your brothers have done. Or where they've gone," I admit. "They'll be back tonight."

"Should I be scared?" she asks with a deep sigh. I smirk and nod.

"I believe so. They've been planning this, whatever it is, since you were fourteen." _And have been very careful not to let _me_ know._

"Well, shit."

"Language."

"Sorry." She flushes darkly, ducking her head. "You know, you guys don't have to do this," she hedges. I barely suppress a groan at the same argument we have had every year since she was twelve years old. "You've given me so much already, you don't have to -"

"Darling if you finish that sentence I will be forced to make you believe you are a twelve-year-old boy for the day. Complete with pimples," I say gravely. She pretends to wince.

"Yes sir. Mouth is zipped shut." She grins and mimes closing her mouth. I laugh and she bounds over to me, grasping the handles of my chair and wheeling me towards the library door. "So, what extravagance have you planned for me this year? I'm sixteen y'know - that's supposed to be the 'biggie.'"

"Shopping," I deadpan. Any normal teenage girl would squeal and throw her arms around my neck with repeated thank you's. My daughter, who I have to fight to get her to cut her hair when it reaches her waist and literally had to drag to Macy's for new jeans because hers were too small, wrinkles her regal nose and glares at me.

"Ow ew, _Dad_…"

"Unfortunately, Anya my darling, shopping is a _part_ of your present. You will have to suffer through it, I'm afraid. But first, the part you will enjoy." She growls a little but wisely keeps her mouth shut. I have to hide my smile. _My feisty little Tomboy…_ I indicate the direction we need to go and she quietly wheels me, probably turning over in her mind furiously what I have planned for her. I grin to myself.

It isn't until I have her guide me outside that she becomes a little excited.

"We're going to the garage?" she realizes in surprise. She doesn't usually go near the garage, even though I insisted she practice driving with her brothers. My scientist haunts the lab whenever possible and falls asleep reading books on chemistry when she can't. The garage has cars which are generally no interest to her.

Fortunately I did not get her a car.

Anya opens the door before hurrying back behind me to help me through. "Careful," she murmurs when I try to assist her and nearly catch the wheel on the edge of the ramp. My mouth twists a little but I refuse to let her see that. Anya has never once cared that I cannot walk properly, and grows upset if I voice disquiet with being unable to care for myself. I'm her father in her eyes and that is that - no weakness allowed.

I shake off the depressing train of thought and point towards a sheet near us. The lump underneath is too small to be a car, and far too thin. She raises an eyebrow at me but I simply smile at her. "Go ahead. It's yours." Anya sighs and strides over to the sheet, grasping it between long fingers and tearing it away with resignation.

She wasn't expecting what's beneath.

I can't see her face, but I hear her thoughts screech to a halt even as her heart begins to pound so loudly she thinks vaguely that it might possibly explode. Her hand falls limply to her side, the sheet still draped over her fingertips. I hear her swallow. See her shoulders sag with surprise. Imagine the blank features that so closely mimics Erik's whenever he experienced emotions that he didn't understand. "Do you like it?" I ask, aware of the emotional avalanche currently sweeping through her mind and burying any full thoughts into little blips of expression she is barely conscious of occurring.

I see the hand not holding the sheet reach out, trembling a little. "This is… It's my…"

"It was your father's, yes." I wheel around until I can see her face. Her eyes are raking over the glossy black paint and the shining steel of Richard Jefferson's 1959 Velocette Viper motorcycle. Her mouth is trembling as she strokes her fingers over the polished leather seat and takes in the brand new metal work. I continue as gently as possible, not sure how this present will be received. "It had suffered some damage from storage but I believe that the restoration is close enough to the original to -"

Her arms are squeezing around my neck before I can finish my sentence.

"Thank you Daddy," she whispers, her arms tightening. "Thank you so much."

I wrap my arms around her in turn and press her to me. My girl has had three fathers in her short life. One who she has no memory of and is a virtual stranger; one who is still alive and breathing and loves her; and one who loved her unconditionally while he was alive. Papa, Dad, and Vatti.

Whether she tries to deny that she has any connection to Erik, I know her. I know her as well as I would know my own flesh and blood, if I were capable of having any children that were biologically mine. I know how much she craves to remember him, if only to find her place in the world.

So, today, she is getting a present from each of her fathers. Erik included.

XXX-XXX

I never cared for motorcycles. Still don't, as a matter of fact. While I sit in the driveway and watch her come back up it on her bike, cheeks flushed and rosy and her hair wind-whipped with pieces of torn leaves, I can't help but fret. The helmet she has on doesn't look snug enough with her curls, her arms are bare in a hand-me-down Beatles shirt from Alex, her jeans are ripped already and could easily tear on the exposed engine… or catch fire… or -

"Dad, I can feel you worrying from over here," she laughs. I quell my internal complaints and smile. "I'm fine, I just went down the street."

"Do you like it?" I ask her. She beams and hops off the motorcycle, barely remembering the kickstand before tearing across the side to hug me again.

"It's just like I remember. _Thank you._" Earnest and honest. And happy. _Perfect._

"Good. Now is the part you won't care for as much," I tell her, secretly thrilling as she groans and drops her head to my shoulder.

"Honestly Dad, I _have_ clothes, I'm just going to fu- _muck_ them up in the lab anyway!"

"Nice save."

"Thank you."

"Get in the car."

"Drat."

She lets go of me and wheels me to the passenger side, opening the door and waiting for me to leverage myself out of the chair and into the seat, before folding up my chair and depositing it into the boot. "You know it's illegal for me to drive without a license, riiiight?" she coaxes, even as she buckles herself in. "We should probably wait for Alex and Sean to get back so they can drive us." They might not be back until tomorrow so she would be off the hook. _Not this time._

"Nice try darling," I chuckle. "Into the city. Just like your brothers showed you." She huffs but complies easily enough. She drives down from Westchester and into New York City with shockingly little mistakes. I only end up gripping the dashboard in utter terror once.

The thought that I just gave her a motorcycle flits across my mind. _What_ was I thinking?

I direct her deeper into Manhattan than we usually go. Her interest spikes as we pass by the Macy's I usually force her to go into for new clothes. It deepens when we seem to avoid the clothing district altogether. Finally, I direct her down a blank street with mostly old grey stone walls. "Where are we?" she asks. Her eyes are wide and scanning everything with an air of excitement. I grin.

"Manhattan."

"I knew I got being a pain in the ass from _somewhere_."

"Would you like your present or would you like to be grounded?"

"Depends on if this a clothing store."

_So_ like Erik.

I sigh dramatically and gesture for Anya to leave the car. She does, hurrying to the boot to retrieve my wheelchair and waiting patiently while I drag myself into it. I guide her (or rather, tell her which door to open) to a nondescript brown wooden door, set into the stone as if it isn't quite sure what it is doing in a place of lifeless stone and steel. Anya opens the door and helps me through before shutting it and finally turning around.

"Oh. My. God."

It's a bookstore, with shelves and shelves and shelves of books. There's everything here from physics to chemistry to fantasy to romance to space travel. Anya's eyes are so wide they look painful and her jaw is slack; for once she's speechless.

"Any you want," I tell her. She looks at me for a heartbeat, and then she's gone. I can't stop my laughter from ringing around the walls as I watch my daughter tear through the bookshelves. I see her for only seconds at a time, and each time she is hidden more and more by a stack of books quickly growing to be the same height as her. Chemistry books, H.G. Wells, Jane Austen, what looks to be a book on atomic theory, biology, genetics, Mark Twain. Books so thin they are barely a hundred pages long to books so large she staggers under their weight. Red, blue, black, grey, lined with gold filigree and so plain they appear boring. When Anya finally stops, her arms are shaking beneath the weight of all the books in her arms. She peeks around the stack and grins unrepentantly at me. I pretend to be aghast, but my amusement must be clear, because her smile grows wider.

"You said any I want…"

"I believe I forgot your avid love of books."

"Liar - I got it from you," she says cheekily. I almost tell her that her love of book _is_ genetic; that her father, when he wasn't hunting Shaw or training or being a general (pleasant) nuisance, was - although he generally avoided libraries - as voracious a reader as she is. But I bite my tongue. That's for later. For this moment, this is when she is solely _my_ daughter.

In a few hours, she will be Erik's, but for now, I am greedily holding onto this moment with my little girl.

XXX-XXX

I have to credit the young man for being patient. Jesse Winters waits until Anya has put away her new books in her already vast collection (the purple of her walls is invisible behind the bookshelves) to knock on the door. She turns her head to me and I shrug as if I have no idea about who that can be. Anya gets up, walking downstairs and slowly opening the door. Even though I can't see her, I can hear the hesitance in the way the door creaks, absolute silence reigning for the span of a few heartbeats before she feels confident enough to open the door. I feel a pang in my chest. Five years later and she is still slightly afraid to open the front door.

"Jesse! You're wearing a… a tie! You're wearing a tie!" I hear her exclaim. I repress a smile and wheel to the top of the stairs, half-hidden behind the wall. Jesse smiles sheepishly on the doorstep, his milky white orbs hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He looks sharp in a slightly worn gray suit and a shining pair of black dress shoes, and blue-striped tie hanging loosely around his neck. He blushes to the roots of his dark hair and thrusts a bouquet of lilies and roses at a gob-smacked Anya. Two times today she has been rendered speechless… Well, three if the motorcycle is counted. Though that was more a grateful silence than absolute shock. I grin; this is definitely one of the better birthdays for Anya.

"Happy birthday Anya," the boy mumbles, shy and reticent. Around the rest of the family he is cryptic, slightly manipulative, and teasing. A good-hearted lad but a bit of a know-it-all, and more than a little infuriating with his mutation. But, while he still teases her, Jesse becomes oddly silent and bashful with Anya in the room. And if she asks he _will_ tell her what he sees through his "eyes," albeit reluctantly. Anya though seems to suffer the same problem. She blushes and looks up at him - one of the few men she is shorter than beside her brothers - before tucking an errant curl behind her ear and glancing at the flowers in her hands.

"Thanks. I'll um… put these in water. Come in," she finally says, stepping away from the door and scurrying into the kitchen. I hide my snort. The boy practically _lives_ here, and yet, suddenly, they are acting like strangers. Never mind the number of times they've fallen asleep together on the couch while watching a moving, or stayed up late talking and laughing, or the hours they are together throughout the week.

Young love will do that to you.

"So… um… what's with the jacket? And tie?" She seems fascinated by the tie. A part of me very much wants to clap a hand over my eyes and _not_ see that.

"Oh, er, I was… Well I was wondering if… I-if you'd like to go out. For your birthday I mean. Not a date b-but a birthday dinner. Birthday dinner," he says, more firmly, biting his lip to stop his stuttering. Anya is a lovely shade of maroon that makes her hair look particularly dark.

"Um.. sure. Just hang on," she mutters, vaulting away from him and hurrying up the stairs. She pauses when she sees me, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Do _not_, under any circumstances, make him think he's covered in snakes, or dying, or no interest in me, or -"

"Darling, would I do that?" I chuckle, noting her nervous blush with faint amusement. She gives me _the look_ she inherited from her father.

"_Dad_."

"Alright alright, I swear."

The look Jesse shoots me lets me know full well that he is completely aware of what I can do to him if he does anything to my daughter. Anya is back in record time, sans flowers and - my eyes practically leap from my head - in a black dress with a pleated skirt and a green belt around her narrow waist. Her normally wild curls have been pinned down into some semblance of order at the back of her head. No makeup adorns her face but that doesn't matter. She is too beautiful for words.

And still wearing her beat up Converse.

Some things never change.

Anya gives me a look again as she bolts past me, racing down the stairs and taking Jesse's hand, as if speed could stop me if I wanted to do the boy harm. "C'mon, Jess."

"You look beautiful," he whispers as the door slams shut.

I'm left to my own devices for most of the rest of the day. I idly wander from room to room, occasionally stopping and looking through paper work left, an idea for a thesis on Hank's desk, college brochures on Anya's… The house is so full of memories. Bad ones, if I let my mind drift too far back, but good ones too. Wonderful ones. Watching Sean fly for the first time. The pride I felt when Alex destroyed the dummy without killing myself or Hank. Seeing Ra - _her_ flick through forms so fast and with so much confidence tears were brought to my eyes. Bearing witness to Hank make history in the form of a helmet for me to broaden my powers. Playing chess late at night. Board games the children forced us to play. Meals that often devolved into so much laughter that no one ever really ate anything. Harassing Moira. Becoming strong. Becoming family.

And then Anya.

Anya discovering the lab for the first time when she's eleven. Twelve and she brings two new members into the fold. Fourteen and she risks her life to save her best friend. Memories of laughing as she and Sean chase each through the woods. Staying up late to soothe her nightmares. Finding Alex brewing her hot chocolate and teasing her about boys. Movie nights with Jesse and Anya squished on the couch and everyone else sprawled in various states of slumber. She and Hank conducting experiments in the lab. Frequent trips into the city to have her hair cut from where she caused something to explode again. Long talks into the night - about mutants, about her humanity, about her human parents, about what she's thinking of doing in the future, of her worries for me. Always seeking, always eager, always passionate in everything she does.

She is so much like Erik. Sometimes, when I talk to her, I half expect Erik to respond. It's even more jarring when she says something similar to what he has in the past. There are days when I look at her, at her kindness and her fierce protectiveness of all people no matter their color or ethnicity or background or mutation or gender, and I feel a pang. Not of regret, but it's not light, either. Erik could have been like her. He could have been as bright and good and shining as his daughter. Oh, a troublemaker to be sure - Anya has been kicked out of two schools and I would not doubt that she at least gets suspended from the latest one - but a good-hearted girl who fights with everything she has for what she believes… Even if I don't agree with her methods. I sigh and rub my face at my melancholy thoughts.

Most of all I regret how Erik wasn't able to see her grow into this beautiful person, inside and out. He missed so much of her life for this bloody war he wants to start... A war his daughter, _my_ daughter, is eager to fight in. I grimace. Part of me wonders how much of this is her trying to prove that she isn't weak because she is human. But the fire in her eyes makes me doubt that. Sometimes when she speaks of fighting for what's _right_ I can't help but think that it is because of me - my deals, my beliefs, my hopes for humanity - that make her so eager to fight.

The perfect balance of complete serenity from me… and an unquenchable rage from Erik. If the mixture doesn't end the world it might very well go to great lengths to save it.

XXX-XXX

The boys are still absent when Anya gets back close to midnight. I'm beginning to worry about them but am trying to hide it as my daughter walks through the door with the brightest smile this side of the equator and a happy flush rising in her cheeks. She finds me in the library, curls ruffled and eyes shining. "Hi Daddy," she giggles. Her thoughts are a warm and soft wave cresting over my bruised thoughts. I glance up from the book in my lap and smile at her.

"Yo look like you had a good time," I tell her. She nods and skips into the room, falling to her knees in front of me. The black dress pools around her in a large cloud, covering her legs completely.

"I did. Jesse had a picnic set up for us - on top of the Empire State Building!" Her eyes are large and her lips are pulled into an even larger smile. "It's so beautiful up there… Did you know there's actually a lot of stars up there? You just have to be above the lights to see any."

"I'm glad you had a good time," I tell her honestly. She nods and gets to her feet to give me a hug.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Anya you don't have to thank me for this." She pulls back and kisses my cheek.

"No, you're right... I have to thank you for existing. I'm pretty sure God isn't supposed to let angels walk among us mortals." I can feel the blush up to the roots of my hair. Anya's smile has gentled, and she looks decades older than her sixteen years. "So thank you for being here."

"I'm no angel, darling," I admonish her gently. If she knew some of the things I had done… She shrugs and looks down at her hands.

"You're mine. Does that count?" Her eyes are guileless as they meet mine. "You saved me. I was an orphan kid with no where to go and a biological father who is too busy starting a war to realize he has a kid. You took me in even knowing about him, knowing the kind of baggage I had - that I _have_ - and you gave me a home. Gave me a family. Protected me. _Loved_ me. You've never let me believe that I was anything other than _me_… And that it's _okay_ to be me. You raised me to love and not to hate. You took everything that could have gone bad about me and didn't let it." There's a lump in my throat. She smiles and takes my hands. "You might not be an angel, Charles Xavier, but you're my guardian." Anya's peachy lips quirk up in a cheeky smile I know all too well. "I hope you're ready for _that_ particular fiasco."

"Nothing you could do is a fiasco," I choke out. Damn it if she doesn't have her father's ability to make the words stick in my throat and suffocate me.

"So if I get expelled again I'm not grounded?"

"I never said that," I protest. She laughs and stands to her full height.

"I love you Daddy."

"I love you too darling. Hold on a minute," I say when she makes as if to leave the study. She turns back with a quizzical air, perching one of her slender hips on the desk. "I have another present for you."

"What? Oh no, Dad, you've given me so much already…"

"This isn't really from _me_. I just acquired it," I reassure her. I reach behind the desk and pull out a large box, covered with dark blue wrapping paper and with a silver bow on the top. "Had to pull a few strings, but I promise, I didn't buy this." _Though I paid for it with blood and pain._ Anya hesitates before taking it from me. Her skin is very pale beneath the freckles.

She's so careful as she pulls it apart, setting each piece of paper aside meticulously and neatly. Beneath the paper is a plain white box, a bit taller than an ordinary hat box. She lifts the box and frowns. Carefully, she pulls out a metal helmet, the face exposed except for a severe widow's peak down the front. The metal is a dull red with a thick silver border. It's familiar but alien, a reminder of a shift in my life I wish I could forget.

Or maybe go back to.

"Um.. thanks?" she says, turning it over in her hands. "Looks a little big for me to be honest." She's confused by it. I understand that. Practiced for it. But all those carefully planned words are suddenly absent, leaving the bitter taste of frustration on my tongue. "Why metal?"

"It's a special alloy that protects your mind from telepaths." Anya's eyes narrow and her hands tighten on the helmet. _Bugger, where is that speech I planned?!_ She's upset. Suspicious. Suddenly I don't know what to say under the glare that begins to form.

"Dad, why are you giving me this? I don't need it. You'd never hurt me." I wince and rub a hand over my face.

"It's… Darling, please try to understand."

"You're making this worse."

"I know… I know." And I do. But I don't know how to tell her now that she is holding the helmet what this means. I lean forward and place my hands over hers, pressing them into the cold metal. It warms slowly, but surely, between the combined heat of our palms. "I hope there comes a day, Anya, when you are willing to give this to someone. When you trust him enough, respect him enough, to return this to him." Her hands shake beneath mine but her face and eyes are steady. "It was your father's. Erik's."

Silence.

"I don't expect you to forgive him today, or tomorrow, or even in a year." I'm babbling. I know I am, but I can't stop. "But darling, there is so much more to him than you think you know. So much more to who he is, _why_ he is, than you've deluded yourself into believing." I'm talking to our hands, unable to meet her eyes. "He cares, Anya. If he knew you were here, he would have come. I am sure of it. I don't expect you to see him anytime soon, but until then, whatever you want to know, I will try to answer." I can feel her eyes on my face. I don't meet them.

Finally, she speaks. I look up when I hear the tears in her voice. "Are you sure about not being an angel?" There's something about the way she's looking at me, the way her face has scrunched up even as her eyes glisten with unshed tears, that reminds me of when she finally figures out a complex equation to conduct an experiment - or explode the toaster yet again. She lowers her hands until the helmet is resting on my lap before embracing me. I return it with a sense of relief. "I'll try. For you, I'll try," she whispers. "I call the right to punch him before I give it to him though."

"I'm first," I retort. She snorts and pulls away, wiping her eyes quickly and clearing her throat. My stoic little tomboy.

"Where are the guys?" she asks, taking the helmet back into her hands and holding it tenderly. "I'd hoped to at least say goodnight to them…"

"Still out I'm - oh no here they are. They're coming up the driveway now," I say. Their thoughts are muted but as soon as they enter the grounds, I can feel them. I'm surprised by the mix of emotions I feel coming from the large van they left in. _Anger, fear, excitement… longing? What on Earth…?_

"Crap, I must look awful. Hang on. Can't let them catch me in a dress…" Anya tries to joke. "I'll be back down in five minutes."

"Do hurry darling, I believe your brothers have gotten into trouble."

"You sure that trouble-making isn't genetic?"

"That is a fact I wonder about every time I see your school records Anya Lehnsherr." She blows a raspberry at me before she leaves. The helmet is cradled as if it is made of glass between her hands.

I wheel into the foyer and keep my eyes on the door with a frown. The fear is spiking, but more of a nervous excitement than _terror_ per say. The feelings coming from the four people in the van are tinged with extreme exhaustion, both physical and mental. My frown deepens. What have my boys gotten up to today?

… Wait, _four_ people?

I focus harder, not entering their minds but simply brushing against them. All are familiar. Hank is driving in the front and fretting about… _Anya? Her reaction?_ The nerves emanating all the way across the estate are attached to an image of her. Sean is asleep next to him, too exhausted to stay awake. Alex is nervous but mostly _excited_, the traces of adrenaline still in his mind. He's talking to… Hank? No, no there _is_ someone else in the van. In the back with him. Someone familiar, like an old friend who I once knew, but alien at once. Closed off. Stoic. A storm of peace and fury swirling in his mind, in a pattern I have only encountered twice before. Anya, though, is upstairs, and Erik is…

… Oh no. They _didn't_.

* * *

**Guess whoooo?! Love you guys, I will try to update soon!**


	9. Chapter Eight: How!

**It's long and updated in less than a week. What happens when I'm stuck in work study for four hours and my Macro teacher is not good at explaining the homework so I just give up after being stuck on problem one for over half an hour...**

**Any-hoo, hey all! Thanks so much for the update! And to the sweetie who was more wondering about Anya's reaction to Cherik... I'm sorry that was tactless how I put it last chapter. You just reminded me of the bullshit I don't want to hear. As for Anya, well... Could be a spoiler if I said... So sorry. Just read - and trust me.**

**So, Erik point of view - the moment we've all been waiting for. The git fought me - clammed up and glared when I tried to write him - but I kicked his ass and forced him into talking. (After redoing the chapter, of course.) I'm actually happy with it, but let me know what you think - if I should write him angrier, happier, etc. For the purpose of this story Erik didn't know up until now that Charles was paralyzed. **

**Love you guys, thanks for sticking with me!**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: ...How?! (October 27, 1967)**

I stare out the window as Havoc jabbers incessantly at me. Something about Charles… Keeping my mouth shut… how he'll murder me if I do anything out of line… Excuse me, let _her_ (whoever the mysterious her is) murder me. I try not to roll my eyes or yawn too widely.

Kid's a fucking amateur at threatening. I could have sworn he was better at it. A glance at his much older face - he's twenty-two now, not that I've been keeping track - shows more nerves than actual anger. Banshee doesn't even try to threaten me, promptly falling asleep once we're in the clear of the Pentagon. Beast is focused on driving and paying me minimal attention.

They should be worried I'll run. I can; a flick of my wrist and this run-down van could be a pile of scrap metal. I _should_. I have plans, plans that do not involve this dimwitted and notoriously blind group of morons. They'd be left on the side of the road and no one would notice until morning. I'd be long gone by then - find Mystique and the rest of my Brotherhood and keep moving with the plan.

I don't.

The trees become thicker when we drive onto the estate. I swallow convulsively and then harden my face when I see Havoc's eyes narrow. I scowl at him and wait for him to turn away just like I remember all the kids did. Only… he doesn't even flinch. Instead, he starts chuckling a little to himself, looking down at his hands. _Nt the reaction I was expecting..._ The surprise must show on my face because he suddenly cracks a grin.

"Sorry. but… well I'm kind of used to that face after five years."

"Oh did he do the face?" Beast pipes up from the front, a growling laugh spilling from his furry throat.

"He did indeed." Alex tries to mimic me and fails, giggling. "Oh man, I don't know how you guys do that. It stops being scary after a while."

"Not _scary_?! _You've_ never been around the toaster when she makes it explode! That's the toaster-exploding face!"

"No, it's the _I'm-going-to-beat-up-Jesse_ face. I love that face."

It occurs to me, not for the first time today, that my former students have apparently lost any of the few IQ points they had before I was imprisoned.

I go back to looking out the window and generally ignoring them. They let me, and watch the long driveway whirl away into the darkness. It's been a long time. Five years in the span of history is not really that long of a time, but to a man who was abandoned on a beach… Five years is eternity. My breath ghosts the window with my exhale, lighting up white for the space of a few seconds and then slowly crumbling into water droplets along the plane of glass. I feel a little sick when I remember how I left him. Would Charles still be angry with me? I don't want to believe that he would be - I don't _remember _him holding grudges - but most men would be furious after a betrayal - _no, he betrayed _me_, _I remind myself swiftly. He didn't come with me. He chose _her_ over _me_. _Them_ over _us_. That helps, the familiar anger reigniting in my chest. Four years I've been in that hell-hole, and not once before today did he try to get me out. He left me to rot.

Fuck, I have a _right_ to be angry!

I tell myself that's why my heart is racing when the van finally lurches to a stop in front of the mansion I have long missed, warm golden light spilling from the windows.

"Hope you're ready for fireworks…"

"Dude, get ready for a fucking _boxing match_. Ten on the squirt."

"That's a fool's bet," Banshee says groggily from the front. "Kid's gonna kick his ass if Prof don't stop her…"

"Can you stop?" Beast growls in exasperation. "This is going to be tense enough without you two making it worse."

"Lighten up Hank -"

"Need I remind you that she is most likely going to kill _us_ for not telling her about _him_?" the blue mutant snarls, jerking his furry head at me. I'm curious about this _her_. Is she an especially powerful mutant? And, if so, why does she have a grudge against me.

"I'd like to know about this supposed enemy of mine," I say in a low voice. All three boys go very still. Awkwardness ensues when they can't seem to answer me.

"Um… Well… She's…"

"We found this girl about five years ago," Banshee says when Beast stutters and Havoc blushes darkly, rubbing a hand through his blonde hair. "She knows you and is pissed off at you."

"For what?"

Havoc glares at me. "She's sixteen today, that ring any bells?"

_Yes. My daughter would have been sixteen today if she lived. _I don't say that though. Can't think of it. _Won't_.

"...No." Havoc face hardens at my response. I find myself drawing back a bit, remembering a dummy that was little more than a piece of scrap after one f his training sessions.

"Does he not -"

"Well, he's gonna in ten seconds," Banshee says. Beast sighs and gets out of the van.

"This was a bad idea."

"No shit - HEY!" Alex had opened his door and sent Banshee sprawling onto the gravel. "Dude! Not cool!"

… These idiots broke me out of prison. Un-fucking-believable.

The mansion looks exactly as I remember it. Tall, immaculate, and grand, the doors are as polished as ever, the brass knockers gleaming. Charles' study light is on, as is the foyer chandelier, and the kitchen. But this doesn't _feel_ like I remember. I had helped Charles move the sheets covering everything and cleaned the dust that lay thickly over the mansion. But when I had lived here it had felt a bit like a mausoleum. Beautiful and elegant and so cold your teeth chattered even in the middle of summer. The kids had helped. They filled the halls with music and lights and laughter, done their best to turn this place into a real _home_. But it had still been cold - nothing like the man who owned it.

Now, the bushes lining the drive aren't nearly as immaculate, and there's a distinct smell of smoke lingering around, and the steps are scuffed and dirty even though the doors themselves are perfectly polished. A pair of shoes is haphazardly on the welcome mat and a book lies forgotten next to them. A ramp with tire- marks covers a section of the stairs. A pot is upended, flowers spraying everywhere, over the bottom half of a marble step. It may be dirtier, not as pristine as in the time of the elder Xaviers, but the house is finally _lived_ in. I can actually imagine someone like Charles feeling comfortable here.

Beast glances at me before opening the door and ushering us in. The foyer is like outside - slightly messy but much more comfortable for it. My eyes rake over the familiar surfaces. Books are _everywhere_, littering every flat surface available. Shoes practically coat the ground, everything from what I recognize as a pair of Havoc's old sneakers to a set of brand-new high-heels with the tag still on (which seemed to have purposely been shoved into a corner of the hallway as if the owner is hopeful they will be forgotten). A few coats are hung up on the coat rack but that is still relatively bear since October is remaining warm. "C'mon, I think I hear them in the kitchen," Havoc says, ushering the other boys in front of him and shooting me a look. I follow grudgingly, instantly disliking how this boy seems to feel he is in charge.

They march down the familiar-but-not hallways - hallways decorated in pictures that I distinctly recall not being there before - until we come to the kitchen. There's a low murmur of voices on the other side. "You sure you're alright?" I hear a female voice ask, soft and worried.

"Of course darling," Charles replies, voice warm and reassuring. My heart leaps into my throat at the familiar tenor. "Of course." He doesn't sound too sure and the girl's voice shows her skepticism.

"Well, okay…"

Banshee and Beast exchange glances while Havoc boldly opens the door. "Hey there Squirt," he says cheerfully. "Have a good birthday?" There's a squeal and I see a spray of red curls over Havoc's shoulder.

"Oh my God, where have you guys been?!" the girl demands. Suddenly the red appears on Beast, and then bumping into Banshee's own ginger locks. "And it's past midnight, you dork, it's not my birthday anymore!"

"Too bad, you're getting your present anyway!" Havoc says gleefully.

My stomach tightens in concern when I hear that. _Present…_

"Are you boys alright?" Charles asks from behind the bodies in front of me, his voice rising with concern. The red curls subside from Banshee and disappear. "No one is hurt? What about…"

"Prof, we got in and out just fine. No casualties," Banshee reassures. "Oo, hot chocolate!"

"That's mine you son of a -!"

"Darling." Charles voice isn't harsh or angry, but the girl cuts off abruptly. "Please."

"Sorry," she replies sheepishly. "Sean, pretty please do not touch my hot chocolate or I will dump the rest on you. That better?" My lips twitch. _Cheeky._ Charles just sighs wearily. "So, why were you boys out all day-slash-night without taking me with you?" There's still the teasing, but an edge to her now too. Beast leans forward and his arm sways with a gentle petting motion.

"I'm sorry Sweetie but it was too dangerous to take you. You're only sixteen."

"And Sean was sixteen five years ago," she retorts stubbornly. My skin buzzes at the reminder of Cuba. We didn't talk of that day in the Brotherhood. Cuba was a topic that you only broached if you wanted a coin in your skull. A hot flash of anger and regret and guilt pierces through me. On the other side of the wall of bodies, I hear Charles gasp.

"Prof?"

"Professor?"

"Dad?"

_...Dad?_

"It's nothing, darling, I promise." It doesn't _sound_ like nothing; Charles voice is strained. I push down on the feelings, swallow them as best I can, until Charles sighs deeply. "Your… present is just a little upset, that's all."

"My present is _alive?!_ What the hell did you guys get me?"

"Language," Charles admonishes. She ignores him.

One by one the boys back away, until there is nothing between Charles and me. _Five years…_ And he looks no different. He's sitting at the table, a mug in his hands, and lines of exhaustion on his face, but he still looks exactly as I remember, imagine, _dream_. His dark hair is still shiny and full, his face is still sweet and boyish, lips still cherry red and sumptuous, eyes cerulean and piercing, gaze soft and compassionate. He is wearing a button down red shirt that makes his pale skin look like porcelain and oh so very breakable. No tweed this time, but that seems to be the only thing that has changed. He still looks like a twenty-eight year old man eager for the world and its wonders. My breath catches and I have to remind the stupid organ in my chest to hold fucking _still_ for a second. I can't look away. _Won't_.

"You got me an old man?" the girl's voice asks again. My gaze snaps to her automatically, seething at being called _old_ - forty is not old, damn it! - and I feel myself freeze even more than before. She's annoyed - there's a little furrow on her nose where she's scrunching up her face in irritation. But that doesn't hide the straight line of her nose or the sharpness of her cheekbones. Scarlet curls bounce wildly around her face in an untameable mess that is oddly beautiful and very familiar. Freckles dot along her face and the exposed skin of her throat, golden against the silvery backdrop of her skin. Young, but she always did look young, strived for it, even though she should be close to my age. Full peachy lips. Dark brows over large eyes. Thick black lashes.

_Magda._

Charles blinks.

She's talking, turning her ire on the mutant boys around me. I'm too numb to talk. "Who is this guy?"

_You don't recognize the husband you ran away from while I buried our dead daughter?_ I think bitterly. Anger starts to cloud my vision, turning the kitchen red as Charles shirt. The other man tenses.

"Doesn't he look familiar?" Beast hedges.

"Um, _noooooo_."

"C'mon, kid, nothing rings any bells?" Banshee grins. "The murderous green eyes, the sharky smile, the temper, the need to get into fights…"

"That's _me_ you idiot!" Magda growls. Her eyes flash to me and all the breath leaves my body.

Green eyes.

_My _eyes.

"Erik," Charles says softly. My eyes cut to him, terrified, frantic. Because - no, no it _can't_ be. She's _dead_, she _died,_ I held her in my goddamn arms for hours and cried and prayed for her to be alright but there was _nothing_ and there wasn't a fucking _pulse_ or breathing and she was so _little_ and how the _fuck_ - "Erik, come back." He doesn't stand, doesn't come to offer me a consoling hand like he used to, but he's turned to me, blue eyes pleading. "Look at me. It's okay. _She's_ okay."

_My eyes and Magda's face._

_Sixteen_.

Oh God.

"Wait a goddamn minute," Not-Magda says from her seat, green eyes, _my_ eyes blown so wide they appear cartoonish in her angular face - and those are _my_ features, not Magda's like I thought, _my _cheekbones, and the shape of my lips if not the color… "That's… That's _Erik Lehnsherr?_" She doesn't sound like she believes it. Charles' lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile.

"Erik, meet your daughter, Anya."

She stands up abruptly, knocking her chair over. Charles lays a hand on her arm and she stills minutely. "That's him? That's Erik?" she repeats, as if she can't believe it. I can't believe it either. She's not the little four-year-old I remember, but a lithe and beautiful woman now, glowing with fire and passion just like her mother used to. No burnt skin, no blue tint to her lips… All I want to do is hold her in my arms, feel her body heat, feel a _pulse_ and her breath and the evidence of her alive because this _must_ be a trick, a game Charles is playing a fool's game, because -

"My daughter is dead."

The words are out before I can stop them and Anya recoils as if I slapped her. Charles flinches, eyes haunted with the ghosts of my own memories, but Anya doesn't seem to know. _Remember_ that. The kitchen waits with baited breath as Anya glances at Charles and then at me. I watch Anya. Charles can't seem to keep track of who needs to be watched.

I don't see her move until her fist is driving into the ridge of my jaw.

"HOLY FU- SON OF A- MMPH!" Anya is howling but I can't see because the force of the blow - _a poor one but a strong one _- sends me tumbling into Beast, who barely catches me before he goes down too. Havoc rushes around us and grabs Anya, yanking her away. I doubt she'll do anything else though; her hand is bright red and tears are gathering at the corners of her eyes from pain. Havoc talks to her in a rush and she screams at him too.

"Told you," Banshee says smugly.

"Anya, ENOUGH!" Charles bellows - and Charles does not yell, does not raise his voice, but Anya doesn't seem to care because she's kicking and biting to be let free, struggling as Havoc yanks her backwards, words rushing from his mouth into her ear even as she screams at him.

"HOW COULD YOU HURT HIM?!" she screeches at me, clawing at Havoc's hands and making him wince. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!"

"Alex, take her -" Charles says desperately, hands braced on the table and shoulders hunched.

"Got it," the boy says - and he's not really a boy is he, there is a _man_ dragging my _daughter away from me. _The metal in the room begins to vibrate angrily. I have to force myself to calm, because my aim is good but with the way she is thrashing I might hit her and I _just got her back_. Havoc lifts Anya bodily from the floor, all tall willowy legs and strength, and carries her from the room. Radiating smugness, Banshee follows. I let them go, seething until Charles forcibly presses calm into my mind, careful not to hurt me.

Everything inside of me just… _crashes._ Along with the metal in the room unfortunately.

Silence is left in the wake. Beast pushes me gently to my feet and trudges to the door. He's the only one that hesitates in the frame, looking back at me with golden eyes. They are troubled.

"I'm sorry," he says. Like that can appease the emotional havoc playing with my heart and lungs. "I didn't… I'm sorry." He shoots a glance at Charles and then leaves. Anya has quieted - I can't hear her anymore - and I'm torn between my daughter and the man still sitting at the kitchen table. How could anyone have sit through _that_?

"Erik, please. Let her calm down a bit before you chase after her," he pleads. An exhausted smile curls his lips. "She's got your temper," he warns with a trace of humor.

I collapse at the table across from him. "Charles, I _buried_ her," I say, like I'm begging. "I buried her in the fucking _ground_. She was… She…"

"Apparently Anya has your will to survive," he says, still with that bitter humor. "She doesn't remember, apparently. But it is saddening how crawling out of a grave at four years old is not at all shocking to me anymore." I glance up. His features are withdrawn, anguished. I don't have to ask - he knows. "We found her at the hospital in Florida, where I was taken after… After Cuba." I flinch and he sighs. "She was eleven. Tiny, really. She's fairly tall now but she wasn't even five feet then." A smile can't quite manage to cross his lips. "She'd just escaped with her life, running through Florida woods to escape two people intent on killing her."

Anger curls my lip, makes my hands tighten. "Where are they now?" I growl. Charles' eyes flash.

"Dead," he says flatly. "Sean and Alex killed them to protect her when they came after her again." _Good_ I think. Charles shakes his head. "No, not good. She's seen enough death, Erik. She's sixteen and she saw her parents murdered by men who were not in their right -"

"Parents?" I question, not caring for his excuse. Charles tenses.

"Yes. She was found in Germany, wandering around in confusion. Sent to the foster care system in America because most of the orphanages there were full already. She was raised by wonderful people, Erik. They were human, but they didn't deserve to die, especially tortured like they were." His eyes are hard as they meet mine. "Tortured by mutants."

_Oh._

I swallow, nod. Normally I wouldn't care. It's our race against theirs. But my daughter… my daughter was nearly killed before she could reach her potential. By her own kind no less. Mutant or no I would have killed them if they were still breathing.

Charles sighs and rests his forearms on the table. Without thinking I reach out, lay my hand over his. "Thank you," I say. For what… I don't know. My daughter is part of it - a _massive_ part. Seeing her alive, grown-up, angry, and perfect; feeling the sting in my jaw from her punch; hearing her. This I can never repay him for. But for him to. Thank you for being alive, whole, undamaged, _good_. How many men would let me into their homes after what I did? How many would give my daughter back to me?

I can almost forgive him for leaving me for five years.

Charles nods but still pulls his hand back. "You should go to bed. It's late," he says softly. He makes no movement to leave. I don't either. "Your room is still there. It's clean, but I'm afraid I'm not quite sure how tidy it is at the moment." A tiny, cheeky smile. "Or it ever was if Anya's cleaning habits are anything to go by."

I have too many questions to ask to even ponder sleeping.

"Tell me about her. Does she like to read? Can she cook? Does she still have a lisp?" The questions pour out of my mouth, little fragments of her childhood I barely remember tumbling out. "What are her abilities?" I ask eagerly. "Her mutation, what can she do?" Charles' mouth tightens imperceptibly. I ignore it. "Does she control metal like me?"

"She can run, she can fight, she can make a horrendous mess just by breathing, she hates acting like a girl, and she has your penchant for trouble." There's something curiously rough to his voice as he says this.

"But what of her _abilities_?" I persist. "What can she _do_?"

"She's incredibly smart. She's brace. She's protective. She gets it from -" He's stalling. I don't like it.

"Charles, what. Is. Her. Mutation?" I ask bluntly. Charles - _Charles_ - scowls.

"The only thing even supernatural about your daughter is how she can make the toaster explode on a nearly daily basis and poor Hank lose his fur," he says. _She's telekinetic?_ Charles grimaces at my thought. "No Erik. She plays in the lab. Has since the day we found her and brought her here."

I don't understand. I tell him I don't understand. If anything Charles becomes angrier. I don't think I've ever seen Charles truly _furious_ before. It's unsettling.

"She's _human_ you git." He's glaring at his hands now, not looking at me. "Everything she's done, all she is, is _human_."

..._No._

"I'd say I'm afraid so, but I'm really not. And if you tell my daughter that she isn't special, that she's _inferior_ because she doesn't have a damn gene so help me Erik I will -"

"_Your _daughter?" I interrupt. I feel sick. _My daughter_ is _human_? How?! How is that even _possible_? But that doesn't stand out nearly as much as those two little words. Charles turns red and retreats, the anger evaporating suddenly and completely.

"I… Anya doesn't remember you. She… she was trying to help a friend through his mutation… and when she woke up she started calling me _Dad_. Has since that day. Always did before, in her mind, but…" He looks pained. I don't understand a word coming out of his mouth until he continues his explanation. "I nearly lost her Erik. Jesse couldn't control his mutation and stopped her heart. Made her... remember… something. I didn't have the heart to tell her not to." He shrugs. "I raised her. Limitations and all she sees me as the only father she has."

He might have punched me like my daughter did.

"I… don't know what to think," I say finally. I don't. For _twelve years_ I thought my daughter was dead. I held her tiny body in my hands and I _buried_ her six feet into the frozen ground. But she's not. She's alive. Yet she's human - an inferior race I've vowed to eliminate and master.

My baby girl _cannot_ be part of that race.

Charles sighs. "We won't come to any epiphanies of our views tonight," he says lowly - resignedly? The man I can - could - read like a book is suddenly closed off from me. I don't like that _at all_. "Go to bed Erik. You can argue with Anya in the morning." He doesn't move again, still leaning on the table with forearms braced on the top.

I shake my head and sigh, standing up. No, I won't convince him tonight. "You're much more capable with them than you used to be," I remark. He glances up. "Didn't even stand up when my daughter _punched_ me," I joke, exaggeratingly pointing at my face. Pain lances across his face before he tampers it down instantly.

Charles doesn't say anything.

"Well? Couldn't have been too bad if you didn't try to stop her," I point out... goading him, even though I don't know why. Charles shakes but still doesn't get up from the table. Doesn't walk out.

_How could you hurt him?! How could you do that?! _Anya had screamed. I had thought she meant emotionally… But Charles still isn't standing up to leave…

The ramp on the front steps flashes in my mind. I had assumed it was the kids', passed it off as such, hadn't thought of it. Yet, now, dread begins to creep into my mind.

"Charles… stand up. Please." I beg him. I want to grab him and shake him until this dread goes away. Charles just exhales, long and slow and tired. He drops his hands below the table and I hear metal on metal. A soft squeak.

Slowly, so slowly, he backs the wheelchair out from beneath the table. His lifeless legs simply resting from… Bile rises in my throat as I trace up to where he can't move with my eyes. To where he was shot in the back.

"I'm sorry, my friend, but I cannot."

* * *

**Life's a bitch German. **

**Like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	10. Chapter Nine: Manipulative

**Hello again! I know this is soon, but I had it half done anyway, and I won't be even able to WRITE for about two weeks (I have a two-hour exam, chemistry exam, and bio quiz on the same day and I really need to study!)... So... Here you are my lovelies! Let me know what you think!**

**If anyone thinks this doesn't fit go back over the last two chapters. This is the conclusion to the build-up I have going (there are signs I promise!). And as for Anya... well... if it seems out of character, remember, Charles is her whole world at the moment; he is her idol and her angel and she would do ANYTHING to make him happy. Even accept someone she is furious with.**

**On that note, enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Manipulative (Oct. 28, 1977)**

I guess manipulation runs in the family. I mean, the way Hank, Sean and I showed Erik Charles and Anya… The poor guy just had about a heart attack when he finally stumbled out of the kitchen last night (ignoring the crossed fingers I had for about thirty seconds there). But that was the point, wasn't it? Get him so shocked he stuck around? We had to. We've had to be other times too, which sucks, but hey, ends justify the means and all that bullshit. The Prof doesn't use his master manipulation very often, but he's a sneaky bastard when he wants to be. You have to be, raising four teenagers by yourself (six if you include Jesse and Maxine Winters, which I don't. A because they still live with relatively non-judgemental parents, and B because I don't want the little psychic shit staying anywhere near my sister on a full time basis. Maxine I will adopt in a heartbeat). The number of times he's gotten us to back down from fights without using his mutation is actually pretty scary. And of course the squirt's got it - you don't get to be that spoiled (with love of course) without learning a trick or two.

I shake my head and laugh. I wouldn't have caught it if she hadn't punched Erik. She even had _me_ fooled! Damn, but that girl is getting _good_! She's lucky though; if the Prof hadn't been so startled by the entire night, he would have realized something was wrong too. I'm still waiting for him to figure this out.

Though if she's getting this clever, and with Jesse's help (asshole), she'll run circles around the two of them.

I'm honestly skipping when I walk downstairs later that morning. Anya, of course, is awake, and scowling at a cup of coffee when she attempts to wrap her bad hand around it, flinching at the pain in the cracked knuckle. "Well well well… If it isn't the little matchmaker herself!" I taunt. Anya flushes and brushes her hands through her hair self-consciously. Bad move: she has to flex her fingers with a wince after that.

"I have _no_ idea what the noises coming out of your mouth are. Get coffee and then talk like a civilized human being." I whistle and do that, fixing the drink to my liking and grinning at her the whole while. "What crawled up your ass and started throwing up rainbows, Alex?" she huffs. That is a disgusting enough visual that my brain reels in absolute gag-iness for a moment.

"Ew, Squirt, really?"

"Hey it's Annie's line, don't blame me!" I frown a little but push the thought from my head. The problem with having a mutant family is Anya's got to be careful who she brings home. Ninety-percent I haven't met, and poor Hank has only ever met Jesse and Maxine. Everyone else is just a name and another explanation of why Anya says some of the weirdest shit ever. "Anyway, what's up? Shouldn't you be watching the asshole currently not sleeping two doors down from Dad's room?"

"Worried they might be making out," I hedge. She makes a face. Don't actually blame her on that one. Parental figures making out - ew.

"Uh, noooo."

"Right that would be too easy, wouldn't it?" I tease. She frowns at me. Confusion and anger play across her sharp features. _C'mon, Ahn, I know you… Give me something… You're good but you're not _that_ good..._

"Alex, so help me if you don't get to the damn point I'm going to knock you over the head with a rolling pin."

"Hope you do a better job than you did punching Magneto." _Damn, not even an eyebrow twitch. _Can't tell if she's _actually_ pissed either, or just trying to cover.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I give up trying to goad her and go blunt. Erik's rubbing off on me again. "It means in the five years you've lived here, you have gotten in no less than twenty-two fights, two of which got you expelled from two different schools. And not once have you managed to fracture your hand." Anya's face goes blank and her eyebrows raise. _Yeah, like that's going to work._

"I get abrasions and breaks all the time. Comes from talking with my fists."

"Not from keeping your thumb in your fist like a moron you don't." She blushes, eyes wide. _Got ya_.

"I didn't… That is… No I _didn't_…" Anya splutters indignantly. I just grin and recline back..

First lesson you learn from fighting is you don't keep your thumb in your fist. Your punch is strong, sure, but you will only hurt yourself. If you're lucky, you'll get a sprain in the joint. If not, you could break something, especially depending on where you aim. And Anya, strong and foolhardy, is known for her knock-out punch at the chin - the brain is forced to slam back and forth and the assailant is knocked out. So why in the _hell_ would she punch Erik _on the freaking jaw?!_

"Plus, you tried oh-so-hard not to mess up his pretty face." She glowers at me. I ignore her. "So, step one complete. What's next on your little get-Prof-and-Erik together master plan?" I love how she flushes when she's caught. It's oh-so-satisfying to see.

But of course, the Lehnsherr blood won't let her accept defeat. "How do you know I wasn't just trying to get Erik kicked out?" she asks haughtily. I raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Seriously? By throwing a temper tantrum? Ahn, you haven't pulled crap like that since you were eleven. Besides, that's the _I'm a protective bitch don't mess with me_ shit you did last night, not _rich little brat_." She just looks at me like I'm an idiot. I sigh. "I caught on after I saw you had broken your thumb. After that, I started thinking why, y'know? Why would you throw such a crappy punch? Then it hit me - you were trying to make Erik guilty about the Prof. Make him believe it was _his_ fault that Prof's in a wheelchair. Which it sort of is, but to be blamed by other people is in ways worse than being blamed by the Prof, because he'll just play it cool and forgive immediately. So if Erik's feeling pretty damn guilty, then he's going to forget any grudges he has for a little bit. Am I getting warmer?" I sing-song when I see Anya blush harder. "If he forgets his grudges he's going to try to make amends with Charles for what he did. He's going to spend time with him. And, since apparently even _you_ figured out the little Shakespeare play going on with those two without even seeing them together before, you've got a prime opportunity to make them hash out their differences and get together - secretly, of course," I add when she opens her mouth in a suspiciously law-quoting manner.

"That is pure speculation," she says stiffly. I smirk and translate to _damn it you caught me._

"How right am I?" I taunt. She glares at me.

"Maybe… a little," she admits grudgingly. I laugh.

"Schemer," I tease. Anya cracks a grin.

"No worse than you lot. Seriously, couldn't you have given me some warning? I hate making stuff up on the fly." I blink. Then blink again. _Okay back up…_

"Wait, how long had you been planning that?" I ask. She shrugs.

"Twenty minutes before you walked in."

I'm not sure if she's serious until I see her face. She's chagrinned, biting her lip and looking down at her fractured hand. _Oh…_ _Wow._ "That's… not very long," I volunteer, more shocked than anything. Anya snorts derisively.

"No, and I could have done better if I had more time and wasn't surprised to see him." She tilts her head, frowning. "I really do look like him. It was kind of scary, actually… I see why you guys cringe why I glare now." She smiles. I don't.

"So twenty minutes before we showed up you decided that you weren't angry and that you… what? Want this homicidal maniac dating your _dad_?" I say incredulously. My sister wrinkles her nose and shakes her head.

"_You're_ the one who broke him out! By the way, I want to know how you did that…"

"Do _not_ change the subject Anya!" I say shortly. ANya sighs.

"It's not that simple Alex."

"Then try and explain it, because frankly, I knew you needed to meet the guy, but I thought it would be at _least_ a decade before you wanted to even speak to him without using your fists." My mind is boggling. I mean I _knew_ what she was planning after I bandaged up her hand, but this? _Twenty minutes?_ Anya's not a flake and she's not a hypocrite. She's as stubborn as her father - _both_ of them, actually, and that's a _hell _of a lot of stubborn between the Prof and Magneto. So what could have changed so drastically in so tiny of an amount of time?

"Dad did," she says, like it should be obvious. I stare at her until she starts tugging on her curls and frowning. "Fine. As one of my presents he gave me Erik's helmet."

My mouth drops.

Anya glowers at me. "Yes, thank you _so much_ for keeping me in the dark about that. Anyway, I didn't know what it was, and then Dad says that it's a telepathy repressing helmet. Okay, that's weird, but whatever - maybe he's finally going to acknowledge that I am going to be fighting. But then he said it was Erik's." She sighs and twists her hands through the ends of her red hair. "Honestly I wanted to chuck it at a window when he said that. I'd been having _such_ a good day, and then Dad goes and gives me _that…_ But then I saw his face. The way he was watching the helmet. And begging me - _begging!_ - for me to have a good relationship with Erik. Telling me it was okay to forgive him." Anya's eyes are flicking back and forth over her hands, bright bottle green and slightly shining. "He missed him - Erik I mean. Dad missed Erik. And it was all over his face too that it wasn't some brotherly love or friendship - but maybe that was part of it I don't know - and he was hurting. He was hurting without Erik, even though this guy had hurt him five years ago." She shakes her head. "For someone to be like that… I knew. Or guessed, at any rate. It was like a switch flipped and suddenly I could _see_ why Dad doesn't talk about Erik, hates the name Magneto, gets that look on his face whenever I say something bad about him. He loves him. Like _really_ loves him." She takes a deep breath. I lay a hand gently on her arm and nod encouragingly. I know where this is going without having to ask, and frankly, I'm in awe of our adoptive father - because she's Erik's kid, through and through, with her fists and her sass and her my-way-or-the-highway attitude, but she's also _Charles'_ little girl, with his spirit and his ferocity for what's right and his ability to really _look _at someone without even telepathy. I'm so proud of Charles, for turning what could have been Magneto Mark II into her own person.

It's inspiring to see what that man can do, and I'm proud he's my foster father. Being in love with Erik doesn't change that pride for me.

"And then I saw Erik. I saw Erik _look at _Dad. And…"

"S'okay Squirt. I get it. I saw that look a lot before you came into the picture," I murmur. She gulps and nods.

"Erik loves him too. Like -"

"_Really _loves him," I say, nudging her and grinning. "You repeat yourself a lot, you know that?" She bushes but leans into my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her and relish the moment where she's not pretending to be a grown-up and a soldier right now. It's like when we were back in the hospital when she was eleven and I was seventeen, and she was crying after the first of many nightmares and I held her, this tiny little waif of a girl I didn't even really know. It just… _fit_.

It never really stopped.

I rub her shoulder until she sits up, blinking and yawning a little. "This isn't going to be easy," she mumbles.

"Are we talking about getting them together at all, or keeping it quiet so you don't get taken away?" I ask. She looks startled at the reminder that homosexuality is not legal. She better _start_ remembering soon before we're _all_ in trouble. "Frankly, having them keep it under wraps until no one gives a shit is going to be harder," I point out. Anya scowls.

"That is _so_ dumb," she grouses. "There's nothing wrong with liking the same sex, it doesn't hurt anyone!"

"Yeah, well, there are people who will take you away if they find out that you have two dads," I remind her gently. The scowl hardens. 'It sucks, I know, but that's the way it is."

"The way it is is _stupid_," she spits out. "Who cares who a man or woman takes to bed at night and wakes up with? Who does it affect? Their children? More kids get abused by heterosexual couples than there are homosexual couples! And Dad loves me, and supports me, and encourages me in what I want to do - he has never been anything but unconditionally loving." She crosses her arms and literally _growls_. Oh hell yeah - Charles morality, and Erik's way of doing things. I have to fight a grin unless she starts shredding me with the teeth she inherited from her biological father. "If that's abusive then lock all the loving parents up," she concludes, throwing herself back dramatically. I simply raise an eyebrow.

"You're going for a political science degree aren't you?"

"You bet your ass and Dad's fortune on it."

XXX-XXX

Jesse Winters (asshole) comes by later with a large grin and Maxine Winters. I grab Maxine and glare at the dark-haired prick currently grinning at my _sister_ in a way that makes me want to pummel him. Anya, the stupid girl, is grinning back.

"Uh oh," Maxine whispers to me. "He's doing it again. Want me to whack him with my wings?" I am seriously adopting this kid.

"I heard that," Jesse (asshole) says to his sister. She sticks her tongue out at him. "Hi, Alex." I ignore him. Anya glares at me. I glare back. "So, darling, how was the rest of your birthday?" the manipulative asshole says to her. She is instantly beaming.

"Perfect, thanks. I got the best presents from Dad and my brothers after you dropped me off." Only the knowledge that my some-what controversial present was considered one of the best keeps me from howling that this guy was involved in her special day _at all_.

"You went out with this jackass?"

I didn't howl that. I yelled it. Big difference.

"It was _gross_," Maxine complains. "Oh, yeah, Anya, can I say happy birthday now? Jesse wouldn't let me call or anything - said I shouldn't _ruin your day_." She sneers at her brother with disdain. It's funny, I used to like the kid before he mutated into the handy-eyed freak, and now he's so uppity about his visions his own sister can't stand him. Maybe if he wasn't so damn _cryptic_ and stopped trying to make everyone go down the path _he_ wants then I'd like him.

I also haven't _quite_ forgiven him for nearly killing Anya two years ago.

"Of course," Anya giggles. Maxine levitates off the ground and hurls herself at Anya, squealing and babbling a mile a minute. Anya just laughs and hugs Maxine so tightly that the younger girl complains that her leathery wings are getting wrinkled. I smile, happy that my sister is happy, and debate if she'd notice if I blasted Jesse (asshole) out into the next century with a plasma beam. I mean, Maxine's _safe_…

"Anya?" I look up because I recognize the voice but not the tone: hesitant and soft. But no, it's Erik. Anya looks tranquil for half a second, her eyes on Maxine. She looks… _peaceful_. Like there's a weight gone. Letting go of your anger to set your parents up must take a lot of strain off of someone. Then she shifts, winks at me, and hardens her face.

If not for the wink I would have thought I imagined the serenity she had at hearing her father's voice.

"_What_?" she barks. Maxine stiffens in Anya's arms and the older girl rubs a soothing hand over her back. I reach out and gently pry Max from my sister and hold onto her.

"It's a game, just watch," I whisper so low that not even Jesse (asshole), with his enhanced hearing can listen in. "She's not actually angry." Maxine looks confused but nods slowly.

Erik's eyes take in the mutants strewn across the foyer and then slowly fix on the human girl in the center of them, slim hip cocked to the side and eyebrow raised defiantly. "Who… who are your friends/" he asks, and _oh boy_ this is so weird. I feel like I'm in the fucking _Twilight Zone_ right now. Erik, _shy_? What the hell?

Anya's scowl deepens. "What's it to you, deserter?" she snarks at him, lips pursed in what I know is feigned fury. Erik's eye twitches. _Ouch. _Even I wince at that.

"Who's he?" Maxine whispers to me.

"Anya's dad," I reply. The poor girl looks even more confused.

"But _Charles _is her dad!" the small girl hisses. I shrug because I really don't know what to say. This situation is pretty damn complicated as is - I barely understand it so there's no way I can _explain_ it.

"Don't mind her, she gets like that," Jesse (asshole) says breezily, brushing Anya aside and addressing Erik. I roll my eyes and glare at the blind mutant. Erik's eyes, green and piercing, narrow on the boy dangerously. Jesse holds out his palm, the blue eye blinking lazily. "I'm Jesse Winters," the boy says with that cocky grin I want to deck right off his face.

Erik's eyes are slits.

"Jesse?" he growls. Jesse's (asshole's) smile falters a little, and that blue eye suddenly flicks wide open. Anya loses her facade for a moment, blinking in bewilderment as her best friend starts to back away from her. I, on the other hand, am suddenly remembering that expression and gleefully waiting for the upcoming repercussions to the arrogant psychic. "The same Jesse that nearly killed my daughter two years ago? _That_ Jesse?" Gone is the hesitance, the guilt, and in its place is a fury I can vividly recall when facing Shaw on a beach in Cuba.

Apparently Jesse (asshole) can see it too. He doesn't even need to be told; he just _runs_.

And Erik chases after him, various pieces of metal following him.

Anya screams and ducks out of the way of the flying objects and the path of her murderous biological father while Maxine and I start laughing so hard we have to hold our guts. I don't _think_ Erik will kill him… At any rate Charles will stop him before long. Unfortunately. "Erik! Erik get back here!" Anya screams. "ERIK LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

I let go of Maxine and look out the door to the two streaks running across the lawns. "I've got his arms!" I yell at Erik, bounding out the door.

"ALEX! NOT YOU TOO!"

"I'm helping!" Maxine crows, running out the door and taking off, her powerful wings flapping happily.

"DAD THEY'RE GOING TO KILL JESSE!" Anya hollers before chasing after us, panicking as Erik throws metal objects repeatedly at Jesse (asshole) Winter's head. I'm laughing so hard I can barely breath, my steps faltering with it, but I keep going with every intention of helping Erik beat the miserable brat into a pulp.

Oh man, I should have brought Erik back _years_ ago!

* * *

**Oh Alex... Let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter Ten: Honesty

**I'm baaaaaaack! And I love you guys, thank you so much for wishing me good luck and supporting me!**

**I also was in such a rush a week and a half ago that I didn't realize that I had accidentally said the last chapter was chapter _ten_. Whoops. This is Ten, that was Nine. Sorry!**

**Okay, so this is sort of a filler chapter and is starting a couple of more plot lines for later. I know it seems weird, I know it seems like there are all these loose ends, but I have one more character to introduce after the two in this chapter and then we are going to move. This story arc won't be year by year by year anymore. I might do that again, but the way I saw it, it made no sense to do that while Anya was growing up because there wasn't a lot going on. Yes they were changing and growing as people, but they still had relative peace. Peace is over now and trouble is resuming now that Erik is back - and not just because of him.**

**This is Anya again, then Erik/Charles (because who doesn't love that?!), then Hank because... Hey... remember two years ago and black blood? Little bit of an explanation AND an insight into what's happening later. So yeah plot moves and thickens!**

**Thank you for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Honesty**

There's something about _running_.

Whipping through the trees, my hair streaming in a ponytail behind me, the dark pressing in on my skin until it seems to glow in the moonlight and the few stars visible between the thick canopy above me… I've never felt more free than when I'm running. Jesse opted out of coming with me - apparently running three miles to get away from Erik and a sharpened garden trowel was too much for him - but I needed more. _Need_ more. I trip over roots I can't make out in the dark every so often, but not enough to even really slow me down. Not enough to stop me. My sneakers are swallowed up in the dark, a reminder that there is no way to really know where I'm going. It's an eerie but heady feeling, enhanced by the puffs of mist from my breath and the tingles that come with being only two or so days away from Halloween. The little rush of danger coupled with the burning of my lungs and the thumping of my heart…

I _live_ for this.

I need to stop though. My legs are burning, and my lungs have reached the point where they feel shredded even with the deep breathing I've mastered. There's a stitch in my side and the tips of my fingers are numb with cold. Still, even as my body has reached its limit, I want to keep going. So I make the last ten minutes count, giving my all and bounding back to the house with all the strength in the wiry legs I inherited from Erik.

Dad's not in the kitchen when I get there so I leap up the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet. He will be soon. He always is. I know he knows what I'm doing, but he doesn't stop me. This is our stalemate; I don't mention the impending war, and he turns a blind eye to how I'm preparing for it.

I turn the water in my shower on to full blast, blazing hot, and strip quickly. I have a feeling that that's why Erik's here; I can't be _sure_, but it seems a little coincidental that at the same point where I'd be considered old enough to seriously think of my future, the possible outcome of it saunters into my house and is turned around from his goals. Not yet, of course, but I have yet to see anyone hold out against Dad's logic. I'm proud that he gave me that lawyer-ly ability to argue my way out of anything or into anyone's beliefs.

But man, convincing him to accept Erik… this is going to be one hell of a challenge.

I hiss at the temperature of the water before gritting my teeth and scrubbing the pale skin free of sweat. Erik's easy enough: convince him of his guilt, spin him around a little, and shove him at Dad. That's all it really takes with him. For a guy that's supposed to be as hard as metal and cold as steel, he's not so good about not hiding his heart. The second he walked through the kitchen door, all he had eyes for was Dad. But he was angry too; it was there in that greedy green gaze that was raking over my father like he wanted to _take_ him… in a, you know, sense of _oh-my-god that's my dad you're stripping with your eyes_! I shake my head, my now loose curls whacking the wall repeatedly with wet slaps. Erik I don't even have to change the mind of when it comes to humans, really. All I have to do is get him to let go of his anger, or at the very least, redirect it from Dad. His affection for the man will win out after that.

No, Dad's going to be the problem. Because he's not mad exactly, but he's hurt. He's hurt very much. He feels deserted and abandoned and lonely, and Erik didn't really come back _willingly_ - he came back because some idiots broke him out of the Pentagon and brought him here. The way my father looks at the man with my eyes… It's like he's waiting for him to walk right out the door with his suitcase trailing behind. Dad was forced to raise me and my brothers on his own, with no help, and the sense that his _significant other_ was missing because he couldn't give a rat's ass about us over his cause. I wince.

It stings, yeah. I wish I could have known Erik, if only so I can get rid of my own anger at being abandoned, my own disgust with his actions. Right now feeling this core of molten rage is very distracting. I know this man is what Dad wants, for whatever reason, so I'm going to give Erik to him. But sometimes, when I'm playing my part… I'm not sure if I'm really _ playing_. And it's scary to not be in control.

I mentally shake myself and turn off the water, done making myself presentable. Well, I look like a skinny lobster now, but that's better than sweaty and about to vomit for running for close to three hours. It'll have to do for now.

Changing quickly into a pair of old yoga pants and a baggy black t-shirt, I bounce downstairs like I still have any energy at all rather than wanting to collapse from weak muscles. Dad's in the kitchen, rolled up to the table and staring forlornly at the stove. My heart squeezes at the frustration on his face but I force a smile. "Hi Daddy," I greet him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "What are you doing awake?" I smirk at the charade, but go through it gleefully anyway.

"Worrying about my daughter of course. Where were you?" He's smirking too. I laugh and get the cocoa ready.

"Oh you know." Because he does. We drop it after that - it's no fun to keep it going when the whole point is 'where were you' and 'you know that already.' We've tried to keep bantering for longer than that before and it falls flat quickly. I get the kettle boiling and dump mix into a couple of mugs. "So… how's living with Erik again?" I ask quietly. I turn around and see Dad is watching his hands very intently.

"Much as before, I believe. We have very different views on the world darling."

"Liar," I say softly. "I can kick him out…" I offer but we both know he won't take me up on it. Much as he's hurting right now, much as he must be angry… He is so grateful Erik's back. The kettle shrieks, making me jump and Charles laugh. Blushing, I turn it off and pour the water into the mugs. Stirring them real quick, I add cinnamon and milk.

"Thank you, darling, but I don't believe that's necessary." He's quiet for so long if it hadn't been for the fact that I can always hear his chair when he leaves, I might have thought I was alone. I watch the swirls of brown and red and white in my mug and think hard. Both of my fathers, real and biological, need to have their heads pulled out of their asses and actually _talk_ to each other. Erik seems willing now that I've redirected him a bit. Also, he was kind of shocked to see Dad in a wheel chair. _Why is that… Nevermind, not important. Suss that out later._ Anyway, Dad is the stubborn one. He's the one who's got the barriers ten feet thick when it comes to Erik. But he'd also know if I tried to manipulate him like I do Erik.

So… I decide not to. Dad likes honesty, is thrown off guard by it. I go honest.

"Dad, I have a question. You said… You said you'd answer anything about Erik and this is… well this is kind of related." My cheeks heat because _oh boy _this is going to be awkward, but I soldier on anyway. Dad raises a dark eyebrow but otherwise is coolly collected.

"If I can I will. Though some of these you will need to ask him… If you can refrain from pummeling him," he adds wryly, glancing at the bruised hand wrapped around the mug. I blush again. Damn it I forgot to rebandage that…

"How do you know when you're in love?" I ask plainly. Dad blinks, his cerulean eyes wide and uncertain. _Score_. Never thrown him so off guard before...

"I'm sorry?"

"How do you know when you're in love?" I repeat patiently. Dad's mouth works a little as if he's trying to push words out but they won't come. I start talking, partly because I'm trying to goad him, and partly because ever since yesterday and the date with Jesse… I don't know. I guess I just need someone to talk to. "It's like… I like him. I like him a lot. And I _know_ I'm attracted to him." A blush stains my cheeks and I wrap my hands almost painfully around my mug, but that's the truth. "I just… I feel wary, all the time. Like I don't trust him, which is stupid because he's supposed to be my best friend, you know?" I shrug. "Is that love? Liking but afraid all the time? Or is it something else?"

Dad doesn't look confused anymore. He's understanding now, a little hesitant, and compassionate. Also he kind of looks like he wants to cry. I almost wish I could take it back. But then he leans over the table and cups my face in one of his pal hands.

"No, darling. That's not love," he says gently. "Love is… love is hard to describe, just because there are so many kinds. There's the love I have for you, and for your brothers. Fatherly, I suppose. All-consuming is probably another word for it." He quirks a brow and smiles. "And rather irritating when I'm trying to ground you for blowing up the toaster or getting into a fight _again_." I smile cheekily and he gives a very put-upon sigh. The he sobers. "It's different for siblings too, friends…" He looks lost in memories for a moment. Did Dad have siblings? I know he must have had friends before his whole world became his children, but I don't even know if he had brothers and sisters. I place my hand over his and lean into the familiar contact, waiting until he comes back from wherever he is. Sometimes I'm bothered by how little Dad actually tells me about his life, sometimes I'm okay with it. I choose to be okay with it for now. "Being in love though… That's a completely different love, my darling. Hot and warm, for one. That sounds odd, but it's like your whole being is on fire with a need for _something, _yet you feel warm inside, safe." I nod because that actually makes a weird sort of sense, even though I've never felt it myself. Dad relaxes a little bit. "Calm without truly being calm, secure, content… It's like finding home. But in another person. All the emotions that come with being in that one place where you can be _you_, without fear. And in its own way those feelings are terrifying, because the one person who sees _you _can also be the one to hurt you so completely." He exhales shakily. "Yet you trust them not to, because you see them too." There's a grim smile and he sounds like he's quoting something. "It's the perfect balance between rage… and serenity."

I feel weirdly… _heavy_, after he finishes. Like this love thing might not be all it's cracked up to be in stories and romances, and that _wanting_ it is pretty damn scary. For a second I want to stop pushing my dad and Erik together, because whatever this crap is it doesn't seem pleasant at _all._ But I look at Dad's face, so vulnerable and open and lost, that I know I need to keep pushing. Because rage and serenity has got to be better than feeling empty and alone.

"I don't love Jesse," I say softly. It's true, too. Whatever this is, it isn't _that_. It's kind of tickly, and cute, but it's not real. It'll fade. Real love doesn't sound like it does that.

"No, I don't believe you do," Dad agrees quietly. "I don't believe you two would be good for each other anyway. Jesse is too soft and controlling. You need someone who is strong, can hold you when you need it, but will let you be who you want to be. Jesse is too set on what path he _thinks_ you should take to allow that." That's certainly true, and for some reason I feel tears well up when Dad admits what I've been secretly thinking. "What's brought this on, darling? You said it had something to do with Erik…" he prompts. I throw caution to the wind and jump in.

"You love him." Dad inhales sharply and lets go of my face to grab his now cold cocoa. "You do, don't you? That's why it hurt so much. He was home and he left you."

"Among other things," he admits softly. Dad exhales shakily. "Anya it's not as simple as that."

"Isn't it?" I challenge him. "If he hadn't left you to raise four kids on your own, where would the two of you be right now, hm? If he hadn't put his _'cause,'"_ I put quotes around the word with a scowl, "above us would you two be friends… or lovers right now?"

'Neither," he says, voice hard. "We would probably both be in jail and you'd be in foster care or the hospital when they try to find out if we inflicted lasting damage on your mind."

_Yeah, okay, thanks for that reminder Dad,_ I think sharply. He flinches and I soften my mental voice. _You know none of us would tell. Who cares what the rest of the world thinks - we love you guys anyway._

"Anya the rest of the world has the power to take you away from me."

"I don't care what they think," I say aloud. "I don't care what the _law_ thinks, there's nothing wrong with you for liking and loving men. It doesn't make you any less of a man or less of a parent."

I have completely lost control of this conversation. Instead of talking about Erik, we're talking about the acceptance of homosexuality in society. _Damn it. Should've gone with manipulate…_

Ah well. At least he admitted he's a dude that likes other dudes. That's something at least.

Unfortunately, Dad's eyes are narrowing, and I know I'm in trouble. "Is _that_ what yesterday was about? Was that part of a scheme to get the two of us together?" he demands. _Busted_ races across my mind faster than I can stop it. "Anya Lehnsherr, this a tense enough situation as is. Please do _not_ go making it worse."

"I'm not sure how making him less of a homicidal maniac could be making a situation worse," I mutter. Dad sighs slowly.

"Don't do that," he begs. "Please. He is not a villain in this, he is just… unguided."

"What does _that _mean?" I ask. But Dad doesn't reply, pulling back, shutting down, and coolly collected once more.

"It's late Anya. You should get to bed." And just like that I'm dismissed.

XXX-XXX

"Okay, remind me again why you are having me look through the New York Public Library's actually pretty impressive collection of physics and chemistry books? I swear, the diffusion of intelligence into my brain is going to make it explode," Andrea "Annie" Pryde complains at the top of her not inconsiderable lungs. A woman working at one of the nearby tables hisses a "Shhhh!" at her. Annie scowls, flips her brunette locks over her shoulder, and makes a very rude gesture in Italien.

"Diffusion only occurs until the solute concentration is equal on both sides of the membrane," I say absently, flicking through the book on physics resting in my lap. _Nope, nada, no…_ "Diffusion would stop before your brain had the chance to explode - more likely given the integrity of the paper versus the solvent concentration of grey matter your brain would leak out your head."

"Another example of why learning is bad," she shoots back with a smile. "You become a walking dictionary." I snort and throw the book onto the ever-growing pile. "I should've gone and gotten high with Elliot."

"Considering he's smoking near the more expensive collections of books and is going to get caught, it's a good thing you didn't," I remind her. Annie makes a face, her brown eyes laughing, before sighing and getting back to work.

"So why are we looking up metals again?"

"I told you, I'm doing a scientific study on the nature of diamagnetic versus paramagnetic metals in relation to an electromagnetic field while still keeping their integrity under extreme physical trauma," I tell her. She wrinkles her nose.

"English, superbrain."

"That _was_ English."

"No, that was let's-torture-the-stupid-girl. English is where you explain what the fuck para-whatsitoya is," she says, smacking my head and going back to her book on chemical properties. The woman who shushed her huffs and gets up, glowering at the language no doubt. Annie just smiles and waves. "Okay, so you don't want to tell me exactly _what _it is you're doing - so long as you don't blow up a toilet again -"

"I didn't realize the compound would react so violently with water!"

" - I'm good. Wanna tell me _why_?" Annie's eyes are intent, her Detective face on and perfectly focused. I shiver a little and look down. She's the only person I've met that can read people almost as well as my dad. _And_ she's human. "Because this means a lot, to you whatever it is."

I hesitate. It's Annie, and I want to tell her, and I trust her. I know I can tell her _part_ of it and it won't be a big deal, but the other… Yeah that wouldn't be so good. I bite my lip and she frowns. "C'mon, Ahn. What's up? I've never seen you so desperate before," she says softly. I exhale. I glance around, making sure no one can hear, then beckon her forward for good measure.

"I'm trying to get my dad a boyfriend." Surprise flickers across her face briefly, then realization.

"Oh. So that's why…"

"Yep."

"And finding metals with these properties helps with that… how?" she asks. I shrug. "Not something you can tell me?" I nod. "Okay then. Where do you need me to look now?"

I smile. This is why Annie is such a great friend. She knows what I can say and what I just… can't.

It takes two hours and frantic hair pulling before Annie comes up with an idea. Actually she _gives_ up and gives _me_ an idea. "This is so stupid" she huffs. "All of these metals and they all are magnetic or toxic!"

"Yeah I know," I sigh. "Half of these don't have magnetic properties but would probably kill me if I handled them."

"Be so much easier if you could just mix them for what you want…" she mutters angrily. "But nooo has to be this or that -" The lightbulb dings and I jump up in excitement.

"ANNIE YOU ARE A GENIUS!" I shriek. Several people glare. "Sorry!"

"What? What did I… Ahn you can't -! Jesus put those down before you -! ELLIOT!" Elliot runs over, red eyed and so doped he looks ready for a nap, only to be bowled over when I run past with a rushed _sorry_, an insane amount of books on metallic properties in my arms and bumping my face. My friends chase after me with concern and laughter and much yelling. By the time they catch up to me I have half of the books checked out and security is kindly asking them to leave for being so disruptive. We do, laughing the whole while.

"Jesus Christ Genius, I did NOT sign up for this," Elliot groans under the weight of some of the books, I snort and switch my much larger stack around.

"You are such a whiner! That is not that much!" I tell him. He glares and raises a foot, wobbling precariously, to kick my arm. It's a light tap and I barely feel it.

"That's because you have fucking body-builder arms. Seriously, do you live in a boot camp? You've got arms as big and strong as your brain!" I go quiet, because kind of yeah. I've been able to hide a _lot_ of what I do to train for the war I _know_ is coming from my Dad. If he knew the full extent…

I clear my throat and look at Annie, who is watching us shrewdly. But she just smiles when I look at her and punches Elliot's arm. "Stop being such a drama queen, Elliot. It's why you can't get a date."

"No no no, girls _like_ drama queens!" he drawls, then hesitates. "Well, _normal_ girls." We both hit him and he laugh, blue eyes bright and mischievous though still bloodshot. "Is it the lack of arms? The good fashion sense?" Gotta hand it to the kid, he has a point there. Having money helps with that. "Or is it my dazzling personality that makes girls not want to date me?"

"I'm pretty sure it's the smell of pot, Elle," Annie deadpans. I laugh and Elliot pretends to scowl.

"Mark my words, Andrea Pryde, I will convince you that I am dating material." Poor guy doesn't realize that crush he has on Annie is _really_ not going anywhere.

"In your dreams Elliot," she responds, pecking him on the cheek and then smacking his head. He whines and she laughs, glowing with happiness.

I look at her, with her dark hair and dark eyes and pretty smile, and I ache. Dad, for all his powers and abilities and understanding of the human mind, is so blind. He talks about understanding, and acceptance, and forgiveness, but he doesn't seem to realize that that extends to more than _just_ mutants. There are so many groups that need a voice too.

That are ready to fight for what they want, because hiding is so much worse. And he has this _chance_, but he's willing to let it slide by, even though these voiceless people are ready to rise up and could make a _change_. I shake my head and finger my stack of books. He might be willing, but I sure as hell am not ready to see my father spend the rest of his life alone and grieving for a relationship he could _have_.

If this plan works, then neither of us will have to endure that.

* * *

**Pryde, huh? Hmmm... Annie's my favorite next to... well... everyone, and I hope you guys love her as much as I do!**

**Like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	12. Chapter Eleven: Secrets

**Wow. Just wow. I love you guys. Especially Argetaie, for that amazing review you left me (my roommate wanted to smother me because I was apparently annoyingly happy over it), and mpathy for sticking with me through this entire thing. mpathy, just for you, I'm planning a chapter featuring the character you keep asking me about! ;) Well... Sort of... You'll see. But you'll get him/her, I promise! (Ambiguity is for everyone else - no spoilers!)**

**Don't hate Jesse too much. He's not black and white he's just... well he's an ass but he's a well-meaning ass.**

**Let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Secrets**

When I wake up, a little over a week after the boys brought me back, the house is eerily silent. I sit up quickly and quietly, head canted to listen. It's Saturday. The past weekend had been a raucous of screams and yells and loud OW!'s reverberating around the halls, even at ten in the morning. This time it's silent except for the bang of a single door. I stand and move to the window just in time to see a bush of curly red hair disappear into the forests on the estate. A glance at the clock shows that it's six in the morning.

What is my daughter doing going into the forest at this early in the morning?

I head downstairs, still quiet, ears straining for noise. Nothing. I walk the halls with every intention of following the young woman, though unless she's wearing metal I doubt very much that I can catch up to her. Down past the lab where there are no noxious fumes, past a study, through halls that feel warmer and are covered in scrapes and a few burn marks to the kitchen -

Charles is there.

I halt, standing in the doorway, but he doesn't look up from where he is reading the paper and nursing a cup of coffee. "Good morning, Erik," he greets calmly. I swallow hard and he raises his head, a slight smile on his rosy lips. "Very early in fact. What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I managed after I swallow several times. Charles just smiles blandly and turns his head to regard the kitchen door. I can't help but notice he's not meeting my eyes.

"Anya seems to have inherited my knack for running. She goes for long runs both very early in the morning and very late at night." His lips twist slightly. I almost forgot that he does that when he's upset. There's something about her running… something I should ask…

I let it go.

There's a lump in my throat and I swallow to try to get around it… But seeing Charles sitting, glancing wistfully every so often at the door, it won't go away. This is the first time I've seen him, _really_ seen him, in a week. The last time he was berating me for chasing that blind prick around - not that I'd actually kill him of course, his mutation is far too valuable, but the thought crossed my mind when I saw the boy who could have killed my daughter. Especially when I saw how he was looking at her. I shake the thought off and glance at Charles. He's studiously voiding looking at me now, having a deep discussion with his coffee. I open my mouth -

"How's Raven?" he asks abruptly. I blink and shut my mouth a little belatedly, a little angrily. I don't know what I was going to say but I would have preferred if he let me _say it_ - whatever it was. Then I realize what he's asking and flush. There's a part of me that very much wants to correct him - to inform the telepath that her name is _Mystique_, not this human bullshit - but I catch my tongue, bite it hard. I'm not even sure why I temper myself, but I have to.

"She's still fighting for the cause, as far as I know," I say reluctantly. I don't want to talk about this. "Incredibly loyal -" Charles' eyes flash and his mouth tightens around the next words.

"Yes, but how _is_ she?" he demands, a touch abruptly. I exhale slowly and stand, less because I want to and more because I _need_ to get space if we're actually going to talk. I head over to the coffee pot and pour myself a cup, not looking at him like he is not looking at me.

"She was alright. Strong, incredibly brave…" I pause. This isn't what Charles wants to hear, is it? He knows this already. I sigh heavily and pour myself a cup of coffee to keep my hands busy. "She missed you," I admit in a low voice. "She missed all of you." He inhales sharply, painfully. I close my eyes tightly against the noise. _God this wasn't supposed to happen… Any of it. Not like this._ "I'm surprised she didn't come back, to be honest." Charles snorts delicately.

"If you're surprised then you don't know my sister," he says bluntly. "The only people I know of who could possibly match her in stubbornness are you and Anya." I turn around to see him smiling and shaking his head, a far-away look in his eyes at some distant memory. I smile slightly, feeling my face pull in a way that it hasn't for five long years. It hurts, the muscles no longer used to being forced in this way. It doesn't make me stop though.

"She inherited my stubbornness?" I ask, shifting the topic from Mystique to my daughter. Charles smiles, close to those bright smiles that use to make my heart thud in my chest, yet still too pale of an imitation for my tastes. Instead my heart squeezes tightly. Regret pushes at my mind, my heart, tightens painfully around my guts and nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. He should have been spared. Damn it, he was supposed to be by my side as we lead our race into a new and better future, not _this_!

"Maybe stubbornness is the wrong word… your _determination_, I suppose." The smile becomes fractionally brighter, though still not at full strength. "She's quite set on changing the world." He shakes his head ruefully. "To be honest, it's a little nerve-wracking as a parent, how she jumps without thinking despite how intelligent she is. If there's a wrong, she reacts. Rather like you." He takes a sip of his coffee and smirks at me. "She inherited your penchant for brawling as well." I rub my jaw and wince. The bruise faded but the force of the punch is still with me.

"If she would hone her skills I could see where she would be a good fighter," I murmur. I'm surprised when Charles' smile disappears and anger hardens his features.

"Leave my daughter out of your bloody war, Erik! It's bad enough she wants to train to fight in it, I don't need you -"

"She wants to _what_?!" I hiss. My mind reels. I had just been referring to her rather abysmal idea of punching... but she wants to fight?! "No. Absolutely not. She's staying out of this!" I declare, angry and clenching my fists around my coffee mug. Charles subsides with a quizzical brow raised.

"Why?" It's said so blandly that I glare at him. I know what this is, but I'm not going to admit it. "Why her? You were perfectly willing to subject the rest of the children to Shaw." Charles is relentless, gazing at me with his piercing eyes. "What makes Anya so -"

"I buried her once. Human or not, I won't do that again." I drag the memory of lowering her then-tiny body into the ground up out of the dark wells of my mind until I hear Charles gasp. There's smug satisfaction in seeing him go white but there's a tinge of despair in it too. "She might be inferior, but I watched her die before." _Cold white skin, tiny lips parted, green eyes glazed over… _Charles whimpers and I stop. "Don't expect me to. She's off limits."

We stop talking for a long time, as Charles collects himself and I bury those memories back into the depths where they belong. When he speaks again, he is subdued, but still fierce. I have to admire that, his resilience, the way he is so bent on his own morals that he will keep going even as it rips him apart. The metaphor does something painful to my chest.

"You might not want to involve her, Erik, but Anya will not be content with people _dying_ around her. Especially her brothers, her friends. If you do this, she _will_ fight, and there's not a damn thing either of us can do about it. Bring this war on us and my daughter will run head first into it to defend those she loves." His eyes are icy and cold, nothing like how he used to look at me. "If the boys ever get called to the war in Vietnam she might follow them and she _will_ fight against it with everything she has. That's who she is." He wheels back slightly so he can drop his head into his hands. "You bring this war Erik, and I lose _all_ of my children. Do you understand?" There's no negotiating with that tone, no pleading with it or showing it logic… Because it's not wrong.

"She won't fight," I say anyway. "Even if I have to chain her to the fucking floor, she's not going into the war when it comes." He snorts and shakes his head.

"That won't stop _any_ of them."

"She's human, what can she do?"

"I'm afraid one of her human friends has taught her how to pick a lock, Erik. At the very least the amount of trouble they get up to at school leads me to believe they can escape any situation." I jolt a little, watching him with furrowed brows. _That's_ where she disappears to everyday? She goes to a _human_ public school? The disgust must show in my thoughts because Charles groans. "_Erik_…"

"What happened to your dreams of a safe haven for mutants Charles?" I demand. Charles glares.

"Apparently being affiliated with a terrorist is not conducive to opening a school," he says shortly. Awkwardly we look away and Charles sighs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - I'm sorry."

"I would have come back," I say softly. "If I'd known, I would have come back."

Charles exhales slowly and smiles for real for the first time. "I know." I duck my head and Charles clears his throat. "Right. Well, Anya should be back soon and the boys should be waking up from various parts of the city now." He rolls his eyes. "They have taken to ar hopping with gusto unfortunately." I snort out a laugh.

"You're surprised?" I ask. Charles laughs too, and I glory in the sound of it.

"Unfortunately no. When Anya was younger Aex used to use her to pick up girls. Rather effective actually." He huffs in exasperation but he's smiling. 'Apparently protective older brothers are attractive."

_Hell yeah they are_, I think, remembering a certain cerulean eyed man who was protective to the point of idiocy of his younger sister. His smile drops and he flushes dark red. I smile, and I know I must look like a shark when I do. Charles clears his throat, still blushing, and wheels out from beneath the table. "Well… I… yes, alright, I really must be going to check on the boys," he mumbles. I want to laugh at how he beats a hasty retreat. I really do. But seeing that his retreat is so much slower because he is restrained in that chair…

The words that Charles doesn't want me to say are bubbling up in my throat again. But he's gone before he can hear me say them.

XXX-XXX

That prick who hurt my daughter waltzes into the house like he owns it, radiating smugness, a few hours later. Anya is taking a shower, Beast is conducting experiments on a mutant's blood he obtained through the CIA with a muttered "this is incredible I have to figure this out," and Havoc and Banshee are sparring in the backyard. Charles is "reading" - I call it "avoiding" - and is ensconced somewhere in the house. So when Jesse Winters walks in with a smirk that makes me grit my teeth there's only me.

"Get out."

"No thank you," he says calmly, taking a seat. "Anya will be down in a bit and I'd like to talk with her before her friend Annie calls to ask her if she wants to go investigate a haunted house." A flicker crosses his blind eyes, a twitch of his eyelid, and I narrow my eyes. Is he lying, or is he withholding information? I can't really tell, and that is… unsettling.

"I don't want you near my daughter. Get out." The bench he's sitting on starts to vibrate as I move the nails in it in a threatening manner. Winters, though, doesn't react. He grins at me.

"Funny, that you call her that. She's human you know… well, most of the time." He winks and I glare. Mutant or not I'm going to impale this kid with the nearest wall sconce if he doesn't stop being an arrogant jackass.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"A secret for another day." The sconce lifts off the wall. Winters' smile doesn't slip, but he speaks faster. "And you _will_ let me near your daughter..." He raises a fist and I tense. Banshee told me of his power. I know full well what he can do and I am _not_ interested in a demonstration on me at the moment.

"Like hell I -"

"Or I tell Anya everything." Slowly, he turns his hand, and flips out a very familiar coin between his fingers. I watch it fall, track it with my power, stop it and raise it because I can't believe… No…

It's the coin I killed Shaw with.

"And not just about you either. I tell her about Shaw, Cuba… Raven Darkholm… I tell her about the village you killed when she died as a child… How it was _you_ that broke Charles' spine... And I tell her all the little things about Charles that will completely destroy her angel for her." I raise the coin and spin it in place. It rotates and I see it is _not _the same coin, just a copy. Another one.

Anya doesn't need the actual coin.

"Charles doesn't lie to her," I say. He smirks.

"No, but he doesn't _talk_ to her either. All I need to say is Charles had a sister… And she will investigate… and she'll find a few other things that will break her trust in him forever." He reclines back in his seat and watches the coin spin with an aura of satisfaction. I want to punch him for it - or better yet, send this coin through his head. "Would you really destroy the relationship the man you love has with his daughter?"

I glare at him and take the coin, blatantly refusing to acknowledge what he said. _The little shit..._

"Charles would have told her about Cuba."

"Charles is an optimist who wants his daughter to have a relationship with her biological father that doesn't entail her hunting him down and shredding him. She only knows that you left Charles to raise four kids by himself." I don't know if I should curse the man for being so honourable or if I should beat him for giving this asshole blackmail potential. Winters cocks his head and raises the hand with the brown eye. It spins wildly before settling on me. He closes the eyes in his face and hums. I feel sick, numb. There is nothing hiding us from this boy's power. "Interesting. I can tell her about that lullaby you used to sing her, when she was three and couldn't sleep in the new place you brought her. Shall I? It might remind her that you weren't always running away from the people you love."

A choice. I feel cornered and I don't like it. Things would be so much simpler if I could kill this bastard...

Anya would never forgive me.

"If you want to," I say flatly. Winters smirks.

"I think I might. Well hello there," he says pleasantly. I glance up and see Anya, her hair wet and dripping, looking down at us with concern. I keep my expression blank. No need to give this fucker more than he already has.

"Don't you _dare_ try to kill him again," she says angrily to me, green eyes flashing. "Damn it you can't go around killing everybody that pisses you off! What the hell did Jesse do to you anyway -"

"This coming from the girl who beats any and everyone to a pulp," Winters teases lightly, rising to his feet. I feel my eyebrows raise and Anya flushes, punching Winters none-too-gently on the arm.

"_Jesse_ -"

"Despite the punch she gave you Anya is actually a wonderful fighter," Winters comments, lounging back against the stairwell.

"Oh really?" I hear myself say, but I'm not focused on the words. I'm focused on how when Anya rubs her face angrily the muscles of her biceps move in a way that indicates an extreme amount of training. I'm focused now on the scars across her knuckles, scars I hadn't noticed before in the wonderful shock of finding her alive, from years of fighting. I'm focused on the wiry build of her, a build she most certainly did not inherit from Magda, as that woman had been curvaceous and knew it too. I focus on her for what feels like the first time… and I feel cold dread instead of relief that she's alive.

She's _human_; she has no business being in this war. Yet here she stands, training for it daily.

"I'm okay," she mumbles. "Could be better. Jesse, for the love of God, _please_ shut your mouth." Winters pantomimes zipping his mouth shut and Anya rolls her eyes. The eyes she inherited from me. The phone rings, somewhere in the house, and she sighs. "Please stop being an ass for two seconds." I can't tell who she's directing this at as she walks away. Perfect. Whole. Undamaged.

"He saved her."

"And you found her," Winters responds. There's no arrogance, no mirth, this time. It's honest, bare, agonized. I glance at him sharply, but he's watching as Anya walks away, something dark crossing his face. "You find her even when Charles says 'impossible.' He lets her down, eventually. You never stop looking for her." His white eyes are glazing over. "You better start trying to like her human friends - one of them is the only way you're going to find her when she -" He cuts off abruptly. I glare at him, a lurch in my chest that is so painful that I bite back a gasp. _Why do I need to find her?!_

"When she _what?_" I growl. Winters shrugs.

"Doesn't matter. Not yet."

Anya's return is the only thing that keeps me from strangling him.

"I'm headed out; Elliot found out about a haunted house and he and Annie want to check it out." She blinks when she sees my tense stance and Winters ducking his head. "Jesse what did you say?" she demands.

"Nothing! Why do you always ask that?" he balks. Anya puts her hands on her hips and glares, and I chuckle because I've seen _that_ particular look enough times from her mother before.

"Because whenever I turn around you're upsetting my family. _Enough_." He raises an eyebrow condescendingly and her glare hardens. Her stance doesn't change but something in her face shifts. Suddenly, she looks nothing like her mother, and everything like _me_. A rush of pride floods me when I see her meet his challenge with her own, and I grin. _That's my girl_, I think in awe.

"Jesse." One word, and he's blinking and nodding rapidly. My grin widens. Anya relaxes and looks like Magda's younger sister once again. "Think you lot can behave for a few hours?" she asks calmly.

"So long as he keeps from _looking_ at me," I mutter. She doesn't glare at me. In fact, her expression is almost… _amused_.

"Join the club. Jesse, _be nice_."

"Why do you always assume it's me?" he whines.

"Because it _is_ always you. I'll be back in a little bit." She kisses Jesse's cheek and doesn't punch me, which I assume is a good thing.

"Anya!" Winters calls suddenly. She turns, one hand on the door. His face is no longer passive, no longer smug, but a little panic. The fist with the blue eye is flexing slightly. He swallows, and then says, "Bring an axe."

"Bring a _what_?" we both exclaim at the same time. We stop, turn to each other, mouths slightly opened. It's more than a little jarring.

"Not for today. Just leave it there. You'll need it for the Adrenalized." He's earnest and sincere and completely insane. Anya rolls her eyes but her fingers have tightened on the door.

"You're full of it Jesse."

"Why does she need an _axe_?" I snarl. Winters just shrugs.

"You'll see."

Anya only sighs and shuts the door, probably to do as he says. I wait until the door is closed before I grab the kid's shirt and haul him towards me, shaking him slightly. "Why does my daughter need an _axe?_" I snap again. Winters frowns and doesn't even attempt to make me let him go.

"A bad day is coming. She'll need it then." He pauses, tilts his head. "Actually, it's the same day you accept humans as being equal." I snort and toss him back.

"And why is that?" I'm angry but also a little… _curious_. "Humans are inferior. Always will be." That at least is the truth.

"Then you haven't met the Trio yet." He grins, a creepy grin that makes me shiver and scowl in irritation at the reflexive response. "See you around, Erik," Winters calls merrily, waltzing around me and whistling.

I'm so fucking sick of secrets in this home.

* * *

**Right there with you Erik.**

**So, like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	13. Chapter Twelve: To Look

**Hi all! Hope you guys are still enjoying this and sticking with me! It's gonna start moving pretty quickly now.**

**Real quick, best response I got? "KICK JESSE'S ASS!" phnxgirl, you made me crack up. In the middle of the library. While I was working. Good on you!**

**I know Jesse's an ass - he still is - but I hope this kind of expands on why he is the way he is. Also, I should probably mention, this story is going to get VERY dark soon. **

**Alright, that's me blabbing on and on! Onto the story!**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: To Look**

I wake with a gasp, heart pounding, sweat coating my body and my eyelids fluttering over sightless eyes. I groan and collapse back into my bed, rubbing at my sockets with my fingers as if that could dispel the images playing behind my eyes.

Anya's choice. It was one of the first things I saw when I looked at her with my mutant eyes.

I sigh and roll onto my side, curling up tighter. It wasn't even her actual _choice_ this time. It was Charles and Erik and that damn _bridge_ after it_._ Erik killing the soldiers, but more horrifyingly, Charles losing control and causing them to kill themselves too. Blood and screaming and _pain, pain, so much pain._ The haunted house Anya likes to explore with her human friends is _nothing_ compared to the bridge. I close my eyes and exhale. If I could make her choose differently… take a different path… I shake my head. No, she won't. I've tried already. I've made Hank investigate, I've helped train her, I've set Erik in the right direction to find her later. But she still chooses. The sad part, the part that makes my guts twist and my head throb, is that I _can't_ change it. I can't change this choice; too much depends on keeping the war of the future from happening to _let_ her change her choice.

I groan. Why _her_? Why did it have to be _her_? My heart stutters in my chest and I bury my face in my pillow. Why does she have to be so damn _loving_, so protective and fragile yet strong and fierce? Why can't she be selfish?

I sit up and raise my Future hand to find my clothes. Left on the chair, of course. I get up, my limbs aching, and stumble over to them. I figured out months ago that I couldn't go to bed with a full stomach or the contents would come up, so I'm dizzy with hunger and nausea. I nearly fall flat on my face twice trying to get into my pants, and then almost get stuck in my shirt after that.

I think of the people I'm sacrificing to keep Anya fighting in the future, to give her clues to what's brewing on the other side of the door, so to speak. One toe at a time I'm opening that door, showing her, showing _them_, what's coming. The faces behind are waiting and eager for them, eyes dark. The blade she will use, hiding in a closet in an abandoned house. A word - _Adrenalized._ She'll know before the year is out what that word means. And another two, words I'm afraid to say, a _name_ that will haunt every single one of the Xavier-Lehsnherr family's footsteps. A reminder of what they can't allow to happen ever again.

_Magda Maximoff._

XXX-XXX

My little sister has left for the mansion already. I debate going. Anya won't be there - she's on another run for her Get-Erik-And-Charles-Together plan - but that in itself is necessary for the conversation I want to have with Hank. I wonder if I can put this off. A quick glance with my blue eye in my mirror shows that _no_, I really can't. Hank is getting suspicious. I curse myself for being _too_ obvious when I was younger. He knows something is wrong. Thankfully, the blood is confusing enough that he hasn't _quite_ connected the dots.

That'll happen in Vietnam, working on missiles, when he gets a very specific letter from his parents after he gets a letter with a rather familiar vial of blood, this time labeled.

With a sigh I decide to go. Best get this over with; history won't write itself _correctly_ otherwise.

When I get there, Alex and Maxine are laughing and throwing cookie dough at each other. I shake my head, amused at the antics of those around me, and slip by them unnoticed. Erik is in the gym downstairs, working off his frustrations after yet another fruitless conversation with Charles to talk about what happened to them. Charles is hiding somewhere. And Hank…

Hank is right where I need him to be.

I breeze into the lab with a smile and a small wave. The brown eye - the past - takes in the room. He was just by the counter, holding a vial of thick red liquid. He's not anymore, and if I'm correct, then he should be right by the sink with Anya's blood sample to update her medical records, facing away from me… "Hello, Hank," I greet. He startles and I hear glass shatter against metal, then very low cursing. _Perfect._ "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" I enquire politely.

"Damn it, Jesse, I needed that! If Anya were to ever need a transfusion we could be in serious trouble!" He's angry because he knows that I have something to do with him never being able to classify Anya since that first time two years ago, yet he can't prove it. Oh startling him he can blame me for, as he knows full well that I know where he is and can wait until he sees me first. But he can't fault me - at least not logically - for the other members of the household always being in this room when he needs to conduct his tests. Still, he has results - Type A negative, perfectly healthy, female. I smile. Messing with people is _so_ entertaining sometimes.

"She won't," I say. _Ironically true, that_. "Have you made any headway on that sample?" Hank sighs and I hear his shoes squeak on the ground, a cabinet drawer move, notes shuffling back and forth. I already know what he's going to say, but I need to assuage the doubt, the thread of thought, creeping in.

"Yes, of course I have." He won't share of course. Not that I would expect him too. Thankfully I already know the mind-boggling results. "Whose blood was that, Jesse?" he enquires sharply. "I know you're the one that set it out for Anya to play with two years ago, and conveniently switched labels around. Don't think I didn't see the residue on the bottles." I keep my face blank. "Whose was it?" he repeats, more of a growl to his voice than before.

"You should really make sure that your organization is better before you go enquiring into people," I suggest. The growl deepens. "It was from the crime scene in Florida. They sent you all the blood; the fact that you can't keep your labels straight has nothing to do with _me_."

"There were five people, and six vials. Anya, the Jefferson's, one for each perpetrator… and an unknown. There were only five people at the house that night."

"There _were_ six, actually," I say softly. _Half-lie. _"Didn't it ever strike you how interesting it was that an eleven-year-old girl managed to escape two sociopaths, on an unknown drug that made them immune to Charles Xavier's telepathy, while wounded?" I have his attention. "Someone helped her escape." _Very true_.

"The mutant with no blood type and abilities that shouldn't be possible even for us." He deadpans it but he's curious too, wants to _know_. Well, I'd love to see them in action, of course, but I know _who_ reaper is, so really the curiosity is much narrower in me than him. "Jesse…"

"You've already discovered Anya's blood type. It's not her." I meet his stare with my own lifeless eyes and raise an eyebrow. _Am I lying, Hank? Can you tell? I don't think so._ When he doesn't question me I continue. "Anya was helped by a mutant, but she is human." _Very true._

"Why the lies, hm?" he asks. I hear him come closer. "Why the secrecy, the games?" A furry paw descends on my shoulder, pushes down hard. "Who is it, and why are they so invested in my baby sister staying alive? Hm? Why?" I shrug his paw off, bored. He would never hurt me. I turn my eyes away and sigh. He doesn't hear the sad note to my voice. No, he doesn't know how much I ache to tell him. _It won't be the end, Hank. But I can't say that._ _For the good of the future, I can't._

"I have to protect the identity of your sister's savior," I say honestly. The paw lifts and I roll my shoulders pointedly. "In 1972 the war we are waiting for will start. A woman will have gained abilities that are not rightfully hers by torturing this mutant you are so keen on finding." Hank draws in a breath. I still him with a raised hand. "This mutant, in 1971, will have broken free, after two years of being brutalized. They won't be known by gender, by physical appearance, nor by any other marker. They will be known only for their extraordinary abilities… and for their army made of both humans _and_ mutants." I stare directly at Hank. I unsettle him; I hear him take several steps back. "Don't ruin this, Dr. McCoy. They need to stay hidden until 1972. I know the thought of tortured mutants makes you - makes all of us - want to rush to the rescue. But this _needs_ to happen. I am not the only one who is trying to prevent the war from escalating." I exhale and raise my blue eye. I focus not on the person in front of me but rather the room, watch the future slip by and blur into….

Ashes. Ashes and dust.

"I need to position them so they will fight in this war, make their own choices, yet still have a safe place to come to when the war is over." _Truth_. "Because if I position them - and these other people succeed - this war could end before it ever truly begins."

A voice in my head, that sounds like my fourteen-year-old sister, growls, _But what of the people you are sacrificing for this? What of the family you are killing off one by one? _I shove her aside.

Victory is about sacrifice.

He sighs. Loudly. Exasperated. "I get that. But Jesse… Jesse is my family going to be okay?"

I hesitate. "Yes," I finally admit. "Yes, it will be okay eventually. You will have even gained some additions." ..._Truth_. He growls in warning. He doesn't touch me but I can _feel_ his claws twitching towards me. When I meet his gaze this time with my sightless eyes he doesn't shift, just meets them unblinking. I remember the first time I saw him, panicking in this lab, blue-furred and golden-eyed and scared of rejection. That fear is diminishing. Charles is so proud of him for it.

"I'm aware of _eventually_. This family seems to always live _eventually_. I'm asking if we're going to _survive_ this war?" he demands. I hesitate even longer. Really, he should know me enough to realize when there is an issue with my words.

"Yes, your family will survive this war," I say lowly. _Very true… For _this_ war._

XXX-XXX

The problem with being psychic is I am not always in control. When I try to see where my sister has disappeared off to with her surrogate older brother, or if I should be worried that Sean will set the books on fire with his joint, or if Hank is going to discover the truth I am trying so hard to conceal, I sometimes go too far.

Like when I walk into the kitchen with the intention of getting a glass of milk, looking ahead to see if it has expired before I walk through the door (because Alex always buys too much milk) and instead see Raven Darkholm sitting at the table across from Hank's missing mutant.

"Jesus _Christ_," I hiss out. This is _way_ too far ahead. They won't be friends for _four years _- _none _of _this_ will happen for _five _years. I try to close my eye and instead find myself stuck in the doorway, watching, just like always. Even though I don't want to see. _Damn it._

"Give it to me," Raven is saying sharply, holding out her hand, golden eyes dark but not angry. The mutant across from her is holding a bottle of what appears to be vodka. "_Now_, Ree."

"Since when in the hell do you boss me around?" the other woman asks. She has short dark hair with sharp features enhanced by malnutrition. She also has tears in her eyes. Raven snatches the bottle from her and sets it across the table. "Hey!"

"I'm not going to let you drink yourself to death over this."

"Oh, so the other times I have have been okay?" It's meant to be challenging, but instead comes out as half a sob. Raven sighs and walks around the table, wrapping her blue and scaly arms around the mutant. The dark-haired woman's hands come up and clench around Raven's forearms, almost as if she can't decide to push her away or draw her closer in. The tears become a film and then spill over, onto her cheeks and dripping onto her chin. Raven goes very still when she feels the salty wetness, inhales deeply.

"Oh honey…"

"Blue, what the _hell _have I done?" she whispers, completely breaking apart. Raven squeezes her as tightly as she can.

"You saved their lives. Charles and Erik wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." She tilts the woman's head up and kisses her forehead. "You saved my brother's _life_."

"I've _cursed_ them because I was too selfish to let them go," the woman argues, her eyes flickering over the room. "Now they're like _me._"

"That's a bad thing?" Raven demands. The other mutant snorts and pushes her away roughly, dropping her head into her hands.

"You've seen what I can do Blue. You've seen what I _am_." Her voice chokes on the last word, desperate and furious and so filled with self-loathing that I close my eyes and look away. "All the people I've killed and the shit I survive while everything else, every_one_ else, dies around me. You _really_ want to put them through that?"

"Ree there's no guarantee that -"

"Magda began to reverse age, Blue. _Reverse_ age. She got decades younger after she replaced her heart with…" She can't seem to say it, pulling in a ragged breath. I know what it is, have _seen_ what it is, and I clench my jaw to keep from cursing the bitch that started this. The only people who would hear me can't know. Not yet. "The same will happen to them."

"So? Not aging isn't so bad!" Raven gestures to herself. "Look at me, still fucking hot even though I'm in my thirties." "Ree" snorts out a laugh and Raven grins. Then she sobers. "Look, it takes a few days for any changes to happen. You saved them three hours ago - if they really hate what you did after we explain the logistics of it… Well…" she shrugs. Ree looks up, fire in her eyes and her expression.

"Are you _seriously_ considering killing your fucking brother and his partner right now?" she hisses. Raven smirks.

"No, I'm getting you to stop being a pain in the ass and realize the _chance_ you gave them. Was it selfish? Abso-fucking-lutely. Most choices _are_. But they're not going to hate you for this. You gave them a second chance, a chance to _live_. And you gave it freely. Hell, you scared the fur off Hank while you were at it." A white smile flashes against midnight blue skin and laughter shakes her shoulders. "Should've gotten a picture of his face, really."

"You are _way_ too desensitized to me cutting myself into pieces." I wince but "Ree" is finally smiling, if only a little and at her hands rather than the other mutant. Raven radiates satisfaction at the achievement but doesn't press it further.

"So long as your brain doesn't end up all over me again, I'm good at this point." The black-haired mutant makes a noise of indignation but allows the jest. "Seriously, honey, they might not _love_ you for it, but they'll understand. Charles had a punctured lung and was bleeding to death, and Erik was tortured to an inch within his life." This time the noise coming out of the girl sounds strangled and terrified. I reach out instinctively and my hand passes right through her shoulder, an urge to comfort overriding the knowledge that this isn't real. "If you hadn't reacted when you did, they'd be dead; you know that." The girl nods, slowly, and glances at Raven.

"I know that. I… I know they won't hate me for _that_." She swallows heavily. "I'm afraid they'll hate me for…" She swallows and tears gather again. Raven squeezes her shoulder gently and says what she is unwilling to.

"For Anya."

"Yeah." Silence descends on the table, and Raven eyes the discarded vodka bottle like _she's_ contemplating drinking herself to death now. "Ree" sighs and leans her head on her forearms. "I fucked up so badly with that, Blue."

"You told me." Raven shakes her head, sunset hair gleaming with the kitchen light. "I can't believe that they had a _kid_. My brother had a _kid_. Wow."

"_Had_ being the operative word," "Ree" says bitterly. I open my mouth, catch the words, suck them back in. I remind myself to mouth the words instead, so no one in the house can hear me.

_Liar._

"I still can't believe that your Charles' _sister_. I didn't know that… that he had one. Well I _knew_." She rubs a hand over her overly-bright eyes and sighs. "I just never heard about you from _him_."

"Charles gets like that. Erik too, apparently."

More silence falls.

"They tried so hard to be good parents…"

"Tell them that," Raven urges, shaking the other woman's shoulder. "Tell them they were good parents and they tried and _you_ tried! You did!" She sounds so convinced of this, so clear. "Ree" looks away angrily but also in - _resignation_. Raven's ferocity changes to disbelief. "...Didn't you?"

"No."

A single word. Pure rage tainting it. I sigh.

_Truth._

The vision fades, but I knew this. I knew about the supposed "Ree" and Raven and this moment. I know what happens to Charles and Erik already. I wish I don't, but I do.

Sometimes I see way too much.

XXX-XXX

"Why are you dragging me out here Jesse?" Maxine whines, kicking angrily at a tree root. I hear her stomp around and pick up rocks as if she's going to throw them at me before dropping them again with a huff. I roll my sightless eyes at her antics and grit my teeth, reminding myself I need her. Specifically her wings. "It's cold and it's wet and Alex and I were going to have a movie night!" Irritation thickens in my veins but I let it drip through my heart and circulate until it's calm enough for me to speak.

"You'll be back in time for your movie night." _God I used to protect this creature?_ Even Anya doesn't give me this much trouble when I tell her to do something. She just says it's bullshit then does it anyway. My sister is scowling at me.

"Why do you have red paint anyway?"

"Because I do." She growls like she's learned to do from watching Hank. I grind my teeth together so hard they creak. "_Look_, I need to do this, _okay?_ And I need you to reach the top!"

"Whatever," she grumbles. I hide my own snarl and keep walking. She follows, subdued and angry, but she follows. "You realize the Professor is going to know whatever you're doing."

"Charles has learned not to look into my head - or into my doings - unless he wants me to tell Anya his secrets." She bristles at my candid _Charles_, heaves a lungful of air to berate me for the disrespect. I ignore her. "He'll get an impression, and he will block you."

"Magneto should've impaled your whiny ass."

"Erik would never hurt his daughter by hurting me." _Though he'll regret that, one day._ "We're here."

"A rock wall?" Maxine says dubiously. I shrug and hand her the can of spray paint. "Why are we here, you jerk?" She angry again, pissed at the games. I simply smile.

"We are giving Andrea Pryde a message, two years from now." I tilt my blue eye so I can see the wall just as Annie will, then rotate my hand so that I can see the ground. See _exactly _what she will miss, but needs to find.

The glint of metal.

"Andrea? _Annie_? Anya's friend?" Maxine connects with alarm. "What message does she need two _years_ from now?"

"One that will only make sense in that moment." _True… and it will keep her from asking anymore questions._

"Okay, cryptic asshole, what is it?" she's annoyed, no longer curious. I smile and gesture around me. I see that glint out of the corner of my blue eye, see that shining ray of hope in the dark and the blood and rage.

"Look down."

* * *

**Well... That's rather interesting, isn't it?**

**Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!**


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Lock and Key

**Happy Thanksgiving! This is just a short little precursor to the next chapter, and a whole lot lighter than last chapter's Jesse point of view. Sorry for the confusion and the "oh-crap-bad-things-are-coming"-ness of the last chapter. I promise, the family (minus Jesse) is just as confused. It will make sense later, I promise. Without that, you wouldn't understand how certain things ended up where they are.**

**Also, a reviewer pointed out it would help if I said whose point-of-view the chapters are. Whoops. Will do that from now on.**

**Alright, apology for the confusion done! If you're confused about _this_ chapter, go back to 'Honesty' because Anya hints she's doing this in that chapter! Hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Lock and Key**

**Sean**

"Why is Anya walking around with a power tool?" I ask Alex, handing him a wrench so he can work on the underside of one of the various cars in the garage. Anya flounces past the open door with a drill as big as her head held aloft like a prize. Alex grunts from underneath the car and wrenches something hard enough that I hear the tell-tale clang of metal. He swears for several minutes while I wait with raised eyebrows.

"New project!" comes muffled from beneath the car. I roll my eyes even though he can't see it. _Well, duh!_ I'm more curious about what "new project" requires a certain and unsettlingly familiar helmet on her head. Alex curses some more and holds a hand out under the bumper of the car. "Blue wrench." I look for the one with the piece of blue tape and hand it to him. I can't tell the difference between wrenches, and Anya just likes to melt them in experiments lately, so we devised this way for me to help him fix up the cars. "I dunno, she's trying to keep it from Charles, that's all I know. And she's driving Bozo crazy in the lab." I can hear the smirk in his voice even through layers of metal.

"She always drives Hank crazy in the lab."

"Yeah, well, she's even worse this time. Purple tool." It looks like a drill only the end if flat. I squint at the tool before passing it to him. "He kept complaining about her creating toxic gases or something when she melted a bunch of metals."

_Metal._ Whatever she's doing lately, it involves a whole bunch of metal. Copper, silver, titanium, iron - whatever she can get her hands on she melts and mixes and shakes her head at with mutters. Until a few days ago, when that asshole Winters was here. She came back from a trip to somewhere, a black bag over one shoulder, a smug grin, and Magneto's helmet on her head.

_Speaking of…_

"Alex? I venture hesitantly, rubbing my hand nervously along the side of my jeans. He hums and I exhale shakily. "Do you think… d'you think we made a mistake, bringing him back?"

Three weeks. Three weeks Erik has been here, and Anya has barely spoken two words to him other than to berate him for attacking Winters (not that anyone really gives a shit about that). Worse is the Prof; he acts like he's fine, but I've barely even _seen_ our foster father around here. He's always hiding out in the library or his room or places I didn't even know this place contained. Erik's been worse to see in his own way. He's always chasing after the Prof, trying to talk to him, but for once that magical patience the man has seems to have completely vanished and he won't speak to Erik at all if anything surrounding their split comes up. And when Erik's not doing that he's awkwardly hanging around Anya, like he doesn't know what to do about her. Probably doesn't. The way he looks at her you'd think we'd given him a ghost - someone he thought was dead but still can't touch.

Actually, that seems pretty head on.

Alex is so quiet I think he's not going to answer for a long time. Then: "No, I don't think we did the wrong thing." He wheels out from beneath the car and sits up, wiping his oil-smudged face on a rag. I snicker a little when I see that he's absolutely drenched in black gunk. He tosses the rag at me and scowls. "Look, you idiot, it's not that things are _wrong_, now that he's back. It's just nobody knows how to act."

"No shit, Sherlock." He pretends to hit me with the a nearby wrench. Or maybe he doesn't pretend, maybe I just move fast enough. "Dr. Doom is back and he's pissed off at the human race still, even though his daughter is lacking a mutation."

"You know what lacking means?" Alex gawks. I grab the nearest screwdriver and pitch it at him. He just lazily moves out of the way and smirks at me. I scowl and perch on the hood of the car with my arms crossed. "That's half the problem," he continues seriously. "She's human. He doesn't know _what_ to think or how to act. Heard him and the Asshole arguing too, about two weeks ago; apparently he doesn't like the thought of dear little Anya running into battle."

"Clearly he doesn't know Anya."

"No, he doesn't. But he wants her as far from this as physically possible." He shrugs. "Magneto sees humans as worthless and unable to defend themselves properly. He thinks that she'll die in twenty minutes or so and he's terrified of losing her. It's conflicting in his head. Add his love interest not pissed but afraid of him and everyone ends up walking on tiptoes around them. Well, except Anya. But then she's always been the ballsy one in the family." There's a quip in there about Alex teaching our little sister bad manners, but I'm caught just sort of _staring _at him. He's changed. When the Prof took on raising Anya on top of the three teenagers he already had, Alex stepped up to the plate to help him. We all did - of course we all did - but Alex took to it like he was born to it. Anya might as well have had a second dad while growing up the way Alex has watched out for her.

He grew up for her, from a seventeen year old boy to a parent in five years. I'm not sure if that's heartbreaking or admirable. Maybe a little of both.

"Since when did you grow a brain?" I demand incredulously. I am not so mature yet that I can't harass him. Alex just grins awkwardly and hunches his shoulders.

"Dunno. Guess being surrounded by geniuses helped a little."

We fall silent, Alex shaking off the maturity that is no longer a facade and hiding beneath the boyish innocence once again. I stare at my shoes and don't really think of anything, really. My mind is just sort of… _caught_. There's a difference between knowing and seeing a change in a person, and then actually _understanding_ that change.

Hank walks out into the garage in all his blue-furred glory, expression resigned. "Hey, Bozo, what're you doing out here?" Alex greets with a smile. He purposefully claps a hand on his shoulder, leaving a greasy handprint in the fur. Hank scowls at us and shakes Alex's hand off.

"Anya said that you needed me here," he says, looking peeved. "What do you -"

"Um, we haven't talked to Anya since this morning at breakfast," I say in confusion. Hank blinks. "She's been running around the house in Erik's helmet and with power drills," I say helpfully.

"But… but she said…"

"Get in the car!" Anya's suddenly in the garage, shoving at Hank's furry back and interrupting. "Everyone, in in in!" Her cheeks are flushed and a wide grin is splitting her face. My eyebrows aren't the only ones that shoot up at her face. Hank refuses to budge. She punches him lightly to get him to move, diving headfirst into the driver's seat of the nearest sports car.

"Oh like _hell_ you are driving!" I exclaim. One too many times of trying to teach her to drive have taught me _that_ lesson. Her head looks peculiarly small beneath the thick metal of her biological father's helmet, her tongue even more so when she sticks it out at me.

"I've got the helmet, it's _my_ helmet, I drive! EVERYONE IN! We don't have much time!" she squeals. Hank crosses his arms over his furry chest and Alex drops his head into his hands.

"Anya, what did you _do_?!" he groans. She shrugs and grins so widely I'm surprised her face doesn't hurt. Her green eyes are sparkling mischievously.

"I'll explain once we're far enough away. Hurry! He's going to realize very soon!" she urges, bouncing in the driver's seat. Alex sighs but gets in. Hank and I stubbornly refuse to move. "Do I have to clock you with a wrench?!" my little sister demands in disbelief.

"Anya, I _can't_ go anywhere! I'm blue!" Hank protests. Anya's eyes flash but her smile doesn't diminish.

"Duck down then. Come on!"

"I do _not_ feel like throwing up today," I say firmly. She rolls her eyes.

"You won't throw up, now come _on!_" Eventually we do trudge over to the car, getting in and grumbling. There's a blanket in the backseat, probably from some picnic or other Alex took one of the many girls he's used Anya to pick up. Wrinkling my nose at the thought but not left with many options, I throw the blanket over Hank to hide the furry blue mutant. He growls but ducks his head down so it's not immediately obvious that someone's there.

Anya shifts into the car and peels out of the garage so fast that I'm pretty sure she left part of the tires behind.

Can I just say that Anya driving is the single scariest thing I've seen? And I've seen some scary shit. It's not that she's a _bad_ driver per say; she just believes that speed _limits_ are speed _suggestions_. As showcased by how she is currently driving a _convertible sports car_ down a twenty-five mile-an-hour street at closing in on sixty miles an hour. I grip my seatbelt in a white-knuckle hold and pray like hell that we make it out of this adventure alive.

"ANYA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Alex yells at the top of his lungs, clinging to the dashboard and the door and looking ready to blow chow everywhere he's so green. Anya pantomimes letting go of the wheel, which has _all_ of us panicking and screaming. She just laughs like the spoiled rotten kid she is and drives. If I didn't love her so much I might beat her to death.

After driving for twenty minutes like this I think I might beat her to death anyway.

Eventually the car slows when we get close to a popular picnic area in summer that, at the beginning of November, is completely deserted. The Prof has taken us here occasionally for a family outing because it's just far enough away from the city that he doesn't hear every single person in New York City. It's just his family when we come out here.

That's how I know that this place is out of the Prof's range.

I practically fall out of the car when she finally stops, gasping in air and digging my fingers into the ground. "You… are… _nuts_," I finally wheeze out. "What the _hell_ was that about?!" Anya bounces out of the car and stares down at me, amusement pulling at her peachy lips.

"Oh don't be such a baby. All three of you," she adds with raised eyebrows at Hank and Alex, who are in similar positions. She pulls the helmet off and gives us a cheeky grin, bouncing it back and forth between her hands like a giant metal beach ball. "C'mon, picnic stuff is in the trunk." We get to our feet shakily, trailing after the tall girl with the flaming hair.

"Ahn… what did you _do_? Why did we have to run like that?" Hank pants. Anya shrugs and pops the lid of the trunk.

"Oh, nothing too drastic, I guess. I just didn't want Dad going and reworking all the time I put into my plan by having one of you open the door for him. Oh the sandwiches got squished…" She pouts at some sandwiches that seem like the force of the car was a bit much for them. At least they're still edible. "Oh well."

"Open the door - _Anya!_" Alex snaps. "Ahn where is -"

"Safe." Hurt flashes across her face and the pout becomes real. "You really think I would _hurt_ -"

"Anya we are fully aware that you would never willingly hurt the Prof," I say immediately. "But you have to admit, this is kind of… scary-looking. And sounding. And _wrenching_ considering how my guts still feel." She pushes the sandwiches at me and rummages around in the trunk for the rest of the food she brought.

"Dad's fine," she says, her voice muffled by the trunk. "I just might have… _forced_ him to talk to Erik, that's all."

"Forced _how_?" Hank demands, sounding increasingly anxious. _Open the door…_

I suddenly get it and I burst out laughing. Anya beams.

"Oh my _God_ you evil little genius! How'd you do it?!" I guffaw. Hell, I didn't think there was a force on Earth that could make Magneto do what he doesn't want to do. Leave it to his kid daughter to be the one who figures out how to beat him. She grins and shrugs.

"Easy. Well, not _easy_, but Annie and Elliot and research and metal scraps mostly. And a lot of doors kicked in," she admits. "A LOT of doors kicked in." I crack up, picturing Anya trying out her latest experiment by repeatedly kicking a door to see if the new lock would give. Alex has the "dawning realization" expression on his face and Hank is just horrified.

"Do you mean to tell me -" Hank starts, his fur almost turning white with shock. I however do not see the problem with this plan and am debating letting Anya get her way for the rest of the year

"YEP!" she chirps, bouncing in place. "Isn't it _great_?!" Alex has a slow smile growing, beaming at our maniacal little sister.

"Hell fucking yes! Squirt that is the most _ingenious_ thing you've ever done!" He grabs her around the waist in a bear hug and swoops her off the ground, hollering about her intellect as he spins in tight circles. She giggles like a young girl and hangs on tight, occasionally shrieking at some of the faster spins.

"They're going to kill each other," Hank says faintly. "This is so bad, they will rip each other apart -"

"Cool it, Bozo, Kid here was just doing them a favor," I say with a shrug. Hank glares at me for the nickname and I grin unrepentantly. "C'mon, you can't tell me you _seriously_ haven't thought of it too? I know I have. At least once a day watching the run-around act they put on." I raise my eyebrows when he starts to stutter. I know he's thought it. It's hard _not _to.

"Well… maybe… But it's not any of our business!" Hank protests. Alex is currently trying to dance with Anya in a victory waltz, something she is squirming to get away from. "She had no right to do that, you had no right to do that Anya!" Hank yells. Anya just sticks her tongue out at him.

"And we have no right to try and help them in any way we can?" I ask a little harshly. Hank is stiff and unrelenting about this. I sigh and pat his shoulder gently. "Look, I get it. I wanna run away when I see them tearing each others' throats out too." He glares at me for that, and I ignore him. "She wants the Prof to be happy. And for whatever reason, Erik makes him happy. She's just helping." For some reason that makes Hank angry in a way I haven't seen before. He growls and paces back to the car.

"And what if Erik leaves, hm? What then? Set the Professor up so his heart gets broken all over again? How is _that_ fair?" I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Hank is pacing back and forth, making me really very nervous. Nothing like a beast pacing to get the blood pumping.

"And that's better than letting them go on pretending they don't care?" I ask. He groans. "Yeah, it's messed up, but we have to give this a shot. Maybe nothing changes maybe something does. Who knows. Can't blame her for trying." Hank's yellow eyes narrow on me, then slide to the girl back at the car trunk, oblivious to the heavy conversation going on near her.

"I can blame her for trying," he says softly. "It would just be a little hypocritical since we broke him out in the first place." I grin and clap him on the shoulder. Good old Hank, boring and a pushover.

"Well, duh. I'm hungry." Alex throws a bag of chips at my head and Anya sits on the back bumper with an air of smug satisfaction. "Quit it, Kid, you know you're in _big_ trouble when you get back. Breaking the speed limit, driving without a license, _and_ taking Hank from the house?! You are going to be grounded young lady!"

"Don't parent, Sean, unless you want me showing Dad you're hidden pot stash." I blush and she cackles. Damn it but she's _always_ finding it! Alex must help her - that seems like his thing, after all. "Bet you ten bucks they're making out when we get baaacccck…" Our family and betting. Really, it should be illegal the things we are willing to bet on. Hank scoffs next to me and Alex grimaces.

"Oh ew, Squirt, let's _not_ talk about that!" Alex groans, shoving the side of her head. She ignores him and out-stretches her hand to me. She even wiggles her fingers a bit, as if I need the incentive. I take it.

"You are _so_ on."

"That is a complete fool's bet Sweetie! How is being locked in a room together -"

"A _bedroom_," Anya corrects with a wink. Alex gags. With him on that.

" - Going to result in them having a relationship together. It's utterly ludicrous!" Hank says stubbornly, even crossing his arms over his chest. The other three of us exchange glances and snickers. Hank is so naive sometimes it's sad...

"Dude, you ever, like, play Seven Minutes in Heaven or something? It'll work. _Trust_ me."

* * *

**Oh boy.**

**Like? Don't like? Let me know!**


End file.
